


Time Later to Put Things Right

by Danse-or-Farkas (Markond)



Series: Time Later [1]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-25
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2018-09-02 04:02:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 41
Words: 157,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8650609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Markond/pseuds/Danse-or-Farkas
Summary: The 21 days after the Incident at Listening Post Bravo, where Knight Nathan tries to make things right again for Paladin Danse.





	1. Thunderstorms and Snack Cakes

 

Day 1 since the Incident at Listening Post Bravo 

 

 

 

 

Knight Nathan had left the Prydwen late afternoon of the previous day on a vertibird and had yet to report back.

 

Haylen had walked with him to the flight deck, watching as he weighed the options in his head and came up wanting each time. Neither of them as clear headed as they would have liked to have been.

 

Quinlan had brusquely sent them both away and told them to get on with the mission.

 

The moment they were away from prying eyes and listening ears she confronted Knight Nathan about his intentions, only afterwards did she realise just how accusing her tone had been.

 

For the briefest of moments he had sounded just like Danse. He had spoken something about duty and putting aside personal feelings, all of that resolve swept away a moment later when she pointed out just how similar he had sounded. For a brief moment he looked like he was going to explode into a rage, something she had only ever seen directed at Rhys, but when he looked at Haylen and saw just how clearly she was worried it all ebbed away.

 

“What do I do?”

 

“Give him a chance to explain himself. Please.”

 

“I'll try. I don't think I can.”

 

Haylen would have been amused at just how far the insubordinate Knight had come if it were not for the dire circumstances. It was strange to see him fighting against his duty when half a year ago it was fight to make him take that duty seriously. She was very much hoping that desire to bend the rules was still present and strong.  
  
She was worried for them both. If Nate went through with it he might not come out of the ordeal quite right, if he refused he would be painting himself as an enemy of the Brotherhood.

 

With a frustrated sigh a strange calm had come over him for long enough for Haylen to make it clear she trusted him. She couldn’t be certain which way his decision had been swayed, or even if he had made a decision. All she could see was that he was not letting the conflict get to him.

 

Since then Haylen had attended to her duties with only half her concentration. Her commanding officer, the man she had trusted and confided in was either dead or due to be executed.

 

She had been on edge ever since giving Knight Nathan Danse's location. Realising that if she had kept her silence maybe he would still be in hiding.

 

A crackled announcement over the tannoy announced that Gladius team operatives had returned. She was still aboard, Rhys was at Cambridge station and Danse would not get an announcement so that only left Nate.

 

She gave an excuse to go see him, Proctor Teagan allowing her a short break to do so with quiet understanding.

 

Haylen caught his path and tried to ask him what had happened. She didn’t have to. The usually light on their feet Nate marched through the Prydwen like a rolling thunderstorm. His steps echoed through the hull heavily enough to rattle the hanging lights in their frames. His weapon was slung over his shoulder, bearing the kind of damage a fight in close quarters would cause.

 

Even in power armour his steps could be relied upon to be unusually light; so much so that he had once magnetised two stealthboys to his armour and crossed from the fore to aft of the ship without being heard or seen once just to prove he could. Danse's response was to be dumbstruck, he didn't know whether to be proud of his sponsored Knight for pulling it off or to be incredulous that a barely fresh initiate had managed to infiltrate and evade a ship full of highly trained soldiers. Even Rhys had been impressed before going back to ignoring his existence. Nate had been so prideful of his achievement until Maxson had personally come to first congratulate him, then put him back in his place for not only wasting resources but using devices that were considered restricted, express permission from both Cade and a Proctor required to use them due to their unfortunate side effects.

 

Haylens heart sank, a shudder rising in her body. She pushed it down and kept her composure, anger stabbing at her as she briefly made eye contact. He flinched away from her gaze and kept moving with purpose.

 

That same feeling nearly a full year buried came back; that ill fated mission where Danse had ordered her to go against her oath 'to first do no harm' and given the overdose of sedatives to the dying Knight.

 

She had hoped with everything they had been through as a team that Nathan would see reason and at least give Danse a chance to explain himself. His heavy walk and burning expression told her everything she needed to know about the outcome of the mission.

 

A few minutes later she crossed paths with him again, this time he was heading away from Command.

 

Nate opened his mouth to say something. His jaw hung free for a moment as he seemed to struggle to find the right combination of words. He said something faintly, the drone of the ships engines masking it completely. His expression hardened, indecision wiped away instantly by purpose. He muttered an irritable apology and left her alone.

 

The third time she saw him he seemed to make an effort to avoid any kind of eye contact and hurried past without acknowledgement. His expression was cold and tactical, the look he wore when out on an operation.

 

It was only afterwards did she realise that he had been wearing Danse's power armour, a heavy bag slung over his shoulder that he certainly didn't have when he had arrived back from the mission. His previous commanding officer was barely dead a day before that looters instinct had kicked in.

 

She returned to Proctor Teagan, finishing the last few records of Gladius teams recently requisitioned equipment for likely the last time.

 

Once her duties for the evening had been concluded she found herself wandering with the company of her own thoughts. These were the kind of situations she would go to Danse to talk through. She would knock on the door to his quarters, take a seat on his bed and just let all the pent up problems tumble from her lips. He would just sit and listen, a quiet comfortable presence for her to get all her worries and anxieties out against.

 

Walking where her feet guided her whilst her thoughts were elsewhere brought her neatly to Danse's quarters by habit. The door had been left slightly ajar.

 

It opened easily with the barest of presses, well oiled and maintained likely by Danse himself. He took pride in his quarters, everything in its rightful place 'to set a good example' as he had liked to boast.

 

It now looked like someone had ransacked the place, everything not nailed down had been removed.

 

Taking a few tentative steps in it was clear this had been done in a hurry. The air was very sweet, something heavy with sugar and possibly cherries pierced straight through the recycled air and power armour grease. A broken Nuka bottle sat roughly where the corner of the bed had been before someone moved it aside, the glass crushed to near powder by the kind of force only power armour could muster. It was beginning to congeal, a heating pipe running under the floor speeding the process along.

 

Danse had kept a few bottles of Nuka Cherry under his bed when he could get ahold of them, always in a bag or in an ammo tin. They had to be out of sight, it was a guilty pleasure he took great strides to not show. He would probably say something like 'a good soldier has no vices' if Haylen had ever mentioned it.

 

He hoarded snack cakes too, the metal tins they came in always managing to find their way to the quartermasters scrap recycling without him ever being seen. There was a whole cupboard somewhere full of them.

 

Nate knew all of this. Upon returning from a mission he would wait until the nearest meal and sit right across from him and slide one of each across the mess hall table. Danse would take them and put them into a small rucksack without saying a word. Nate did this every time with a knowing smirk.

 

Officially outside food was disallowed due to the abundant risk of radiation and other contaminants, unofficially the rule was ignored simply because they didn’t have the supplies to feed the entire detachment. Rationing had been in effect for almost a year, the situation always balanced precariously on the edge of becoming a full emergency. Gladius team ate out in the field as much as possible.

 

She had read some pre-war books on psychological conditioning and wondered if perhaps the Vault Dweller had too. Danse might not have realised it but at every meal he would briefly check the entryway to the mess hall periodically. Whenever Nate appeared Danse's face lit up for the slightest moment. She had watched this every time with amusement, Danse being completely oblivious to it and the not so subtle flirting.

 

Eventually she was going to tell Nate off for it, but it was clear to see he meant well and she didn't quite have the heart to do it.

 

They had discussed his feelings for the Paladin not too long ago, Haylen dragging the Knight aside and sitting him down to properly talk about it rather than dodge around it. Rhys was deliberately ignoring the whole situation, Danse was oblivious and Nate wasn't bold enough to take the risk of simply telling him. That left it up to Haylen to intervene.

 

It was no secret Nate was pining after the Paladin, the rest of Gladius and a few of their close comrades were all too aware of it. Brandis made no comment on it but seemed to care not either way whilst Ingram disproved on a professional level and was quietly hoping for a resolution to it on a personal one.

 

Knight Nathan tried hiding it behind a layer of innuendo and insinuation that made him look like nothing more than a shameless flirt. Danse was fairly oblivious to it all, shrugging off what he had noticed of it as just Nate being strange or insubordinate.

 

Haylen knew the signs of an infatuation well enough, she had approached Rhys with her feelings a very long time ago and he had told her that duty would always come first. It hadn’t influenced their working relationship in the slightest as both of them understood perfectly that they had responsibilities to fulfil. They had sat and worked it out, deciding it was for the best they not risk their efficiency in the field for the sake of romance.

 

It wasn’t her place to push Nate into a confession, she had only intended to give him the motivation to get it over with and move on when he was turned down. Danse would choose duty the same way Rhys had. She hoped he would take rejection with the same professionalism she had, his attitude when he joined was immature at best and the year since had only taken some of those rough edges off.

 

Danse would likely never realise any of this was going on within his team without someone quietly informing him. She could grind up every last mentat in the commonwealth to a fine powder and replace the oxygen filter in Danse power armour life support with it and still he would not be perceptive enough to catch on to how Nate looked at him with such joy. He could identify an improperly cleaned servo in a suit of power armour just from the sound but couldn’t recognise a subordinate having inappropriate feelings for him.

 

Nate had given him the teasing nickname 'tincan' when they first met. It caused the Paladin to scowl every time it was used. The warm smiles and awkwardness, the gifts, the gentle pat on the shoulder whenever he snuck up on them. Nate had even complimented Danse on how nice his hair was when he wasn't wearing the protective hood, right before the hood disappeared forever. It had likely been thrown overboard.

 

She sat on the edge of the bed and just stared off into nothing, lost in the memories. Even the pillows and sheets had been taken.

 

Kicking the broken neck of the bottle away with her boot she idly wondered if it was Nate who had done it, or had Maxson ordered everything destroyed in an effort to erase all traces.

 

She had wanted to cry, but now just sitting there she thought that wouldn't be what he would have wanted. He would want her to be strong, to soldier on and be an example to others.

 

When the tannoy crackled and reverberated to life she paid it little attention. Maxson announced the death of the traitor and how they were stronger for having cast out and destroyed the abomination that had lied to them for so long. He ended by announcing the gap in the ranks was to be closed, the Vault Dweller taking the rank of Paladin.

 

Haylen snorted at his speech. She would have been happy for Nate receiving the promotion if it hadn’t been wrestled by one friend from the cold, dead hands of another.

 

Knight Nathan was a scavenger by nature. She had watched him lean carefully over landmines disabling them with a small magnet and a beaming grin at the horror on the rest of the teams face. He had an instinct for just where the raiders they killed had their treasures hidden, no problem looting from the dead. Only this time he looted the rank, power armour, possessions and life of someone she cared about. Someone she thought he had cared about.

 

Maxsons speech ended and he hadn’t announced that Paladin Nathan was taking over Gladius team. That meant they were probably all being split onto separate assignments. She had suspected as much, Rhys would not respect Nathan as a commanding officer and her known closeness with Danse would make working with his executioner a problem.

 

After a few minutes more just sitting with the dull thrum of the engines and the buzzing of her thoughts as company she left Danse's quarters, closing the door firmly behind her.

 

She went to check the duty rota for the next day, noting down what tasks she was assigned before going to bed.

 

 


	2. Ride of the Valkyries

 

 

Day 19 since the Incident at Listening Post Bravo 

 

 

 

 

It had been almost three weeks and the newly promoted Paladin was nowhere to be seen.

 

Haylen had kept an ear close to the rumour mill and kept track of every whispered half truth hoping to glean an insight. To the best of her ability she had only determined that Paladin Nathan had taken a small task and had yet to return, though he had been sighted a few times.

 

It wasn't unusual for them to be away for weeks at a time but the circumstances surrounding this extended absence left a lot of doubts amongst the officers.

 

Before becoming a fixture of Gladius team he had been given a surprising amount of autonomy and it had paid off well. He was now supposed to be in regular rotation, those days over. The rotas should have been shifted to account for his absence but the duty assignment had gotten scrambled and disordered by some error none of the Proctors or Scribes were admitting to. It seemed a full recall had been scheduled for all field teams in the coming days as a result.

 

She had heard from Ingram, who had gotten her information from Kells, that Elder Maxson was giving the missing Knight a short period of time to get their affairs in order and get themselves ready for duty again before they were recalled. With the recent escalation of the Institute and Railroad he quietly gave the word for anybody going out into the field to lookout for them and make him aware he was due back, the second time that order had been given in Nathan's short career.

 

The Elder was perhaps worried that Nate had simply given up on the Brotherhood after what had happened, his loyalties stretched too far by what he had been pressed into doing. The only definite sighting of him had been some time ago at Cambridge Station; Knight Rhys having sent a report immediately after that their relations with the Railroad had been severed because of some act of betrayal or retaliation on their part. It had been classified and buried, Rhys breaking protocol by telling her even a little of what he had overheard.

 

Nate was at the centre of the rumours and speculations that circled the ship and became more outlandish with each retelling.

 

Some were determined that Danse was innocent and the revelation he was a synth was a massive deception so the Knight could steal his rank.

 

Others alluded to there being an illicit affair between them that needed to be covered up. Haylen had wanted to laugh at the Scribe that had chattered that rumour to her, hoping for an insight from a team mate. It had occurred to her that if Nate and Danse had gotten together then maybe he would still be alive. If she had pressed Nate into confessing his feelings sooner instead of letting it run the course naturally then maybe Danse would have been spared. Too many what-ifs and could-have-beens ran through her head.

 

Haylen carefully chose a stance of neutrality in the aftermath of Danse's execution. The crew was split near evenly between cursing Danse's name in anger and quietly mourning the passing. Morale had plummeted and in its place was a sombre sense of duty punctuated with anger. A few fights had broken out over the last few weeks, tempers ran high, emotions frayed and worn. He had been well loved by his brothers and sisters, an exemplar of what they could all be before the betrayal and even now some of the crew still looked up to him. It was only starting to settle down.

 

Some of the crew had painted a single black stripe on their armour, a mark of mourning. The paint would be scratched at every time they felt better, once it had completely chipped away that was the sign that the mourning period was over. The last time that mark had been seen in such numbers was when Sarah Lyons had been killed in action, the remaining few of the Lyon's Pride still had the faintest trace of theirs. Some of Maxons inner circle, the most loyal of his believers wore a red stripe instead to mark and announce that they were not mourning the death of a traitor.

 

Maxson had stepped up operations against the Institute and was devoting a lot of resources into tracking down the Railroad after one of their agents managed to slip from his grasp. Information that had trickled down suggested they were treating the Railroad as an active threat rather than an annoyance since they had been surprisingly active as of late. It was unlikely they would need to deal with them directly, their activities were a welcome distraction that divided the Institutes attention.

 

Brandis was in charge of monitoring the Railroad, him and the handful of soldiers who had been sent out to keep track of them had yet to report back and were two weeks overdue.

 

Haylen sat at her usual spot in the mess reading through a medicine inventory marking down what they would need to restock soon. Medical and food supplies had been going missing in fairly large amounts at a time, but they didn’t have the resources to do a dedicated investigate. The priority was investigating the sabotage to the vertibirds and the emptying of the armoury.

 

Medicine stocks were unfortunataly marked as the last priority, the loss of weapons and suits of power armour had put Maxson on the war path. Officially the losses had been left unattributed to any one group. Unofficially it was thought to be Railroad infiltrators, all of the newest recruits put under scrutiny and having their histories checked thoroughly.

 

A pen hung loosely between her fingers, swapped occasionally for a spoon when she remembered the lunch sat before her.

 

The spot to her right was empty and nobody had dared sit there since. That was Danse's space.

 

The nearest other person was a Scribe on the next table over, sipping purified water between reading pages out of an old power cell maintenance manual.

 

The chair in front of Danse's scrapped against the floor, a mess tray clattering noisily against the table.

 

She intended to look up briefly to see who it was that thought to sit near her, caught off guard instantly by Nate. He was looking right at her with that usual confident smile. He wasn't in either his uniform, power armour or Danse's, just light ballistic armour marked with Brotherhood iconography and an old baseball cap. A Stealthboy was strapped to his hip, modified somehow. Wires trailed from it under the armour. He was wearing a heavy rucksack that clanked slightly as he lowered it under the table, the sound of glass bottles colliding.

 

“I wasn't looking for company.” She said tersely, returning to her work.

 

There was a moment of silence as he appeared to choose his words carefully.

 

“I think I owe you an apology.” The smile faltered slightly. “And a chance to explain myself.”

 

“You did your duty, what else is there to explain?” She scribbled a tentative ten next to stimpaks, scratched it out and put fifteen. The clinic in Diamond City had surrendered their supplies during the lockdown so she could afford to requisition a handful more.

 

“Would you at least look at me.” Nate's voice was quiet, a stark contrast to his typical brash and sarcastic. His left elbow was propped up on the table, resting his head lopsidedly against his hand. He was idly batting the two sets of holotags around his neck back and forth.

 

“Speak then.” She put the pen down and flipped the stock report closed.

 

“I thought perhaps you could do with getting off the Prydwen, a chance to unwind away from all of this. It does seem to be a little tense around here as of late. Could cut the tension with a knife.” He smirked widely at her, she kept her expression impassive. He was acting as if they were still a team, the value he put on loyalty to his team mates had been clearly demonstrated when he executed their friend and commanding officer.

 

“What do you suggest then?” She had little interest in humouring him.

 

“A know a great little place out of the way. There’s this really wonderful singer there and i'm certain you'll love it. We can get a few drinks, sing maybe, unwind, maybe _Danse_ a little.” The wide smirk dropped to deathly serious for the briefest of moments when he said that word before returning as if it was never gone.

 

Haylen wasn't sure whether he had said dance or Danse, if her mind had just played a trick on her.

 

“I have a little off duty time built up, I can see if I can take it off the ship.” Curiosity was a dangerous thing.

 

“That's good to hear.” He hoisted up his bag and unzipped it, taking out a bottle and a tin. “Want any? I’ve been stocking up.”

 

He slid a Nuka Cherry and a tin of fancy lads to her, the gesture exactly the same one he used on Danse. His smile was beaming but his eyes didn't seem to match.

 

“No thank you. Its appreciated though.” She looked at them for a moment before pushing them back. The snacks were deposited back into the bag with a shrug. Her paranoia prickled sharply.

 

“I'll see you at eighteenhundred then? I already checked your duty roster and that's when your shift ends.” Nate stood up and was gone in moments.

 

It was only when she replayed the event in her head did everything fall into place. Nate was rarely the type for planning ahead but his every action seemed choreographed ahead to the detail. He sat with one side of his face covered by his hand so only she could see his facial expressions, the hat doing the rest. The choice of seat, the cakes, the wording, this had been in planning for a while. The whole thing stank of espionage.

 

Despite it all she couldn’t help but wonder exactly what he was plotting.

 

She noticed his mess tray had been left behind, what little food had been on it barely touched. Under the cup was a small scrap of paper. Looking around to be sure she wasn’t watched she slid it out and turned it over.

 

It had a single word on it.

 

The handwriting was most certainly not Nates scrawled cursive. The letters were neat, clean and evenly placed. She knew that handwriting instantly.

 

She pocketed the note, heart pounding in her chest.

 

It could have been a well made forgery, even a scrap of something from before his death. She chose to keep just a little hope alive.

 

After lunch she followed a route to her work that took her out into the open air, scattering the torn up note to the winds. Watching the confetti dance in the air momentarily before being sucked into the Prydwens starboard engine made her feel inexplicably happy.

 

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

 

 

Nate was sat in the back of the vertibird humming happily to himself. He had come and gone from the Prydwen several times over the last few hours, attending to various little tasks that needed to be done.

 

He had quietly requisitioned its use, a small bribe keeping his less than officially sanctioned use from going down in the records as such. He was avoiding the Proctors and Maxson, news of his return had likely reached them but no announcement had been made ordering him to report to Command and explain his absence.

 

He could hear Proctor Quinlan faintly over the drone of idling engines. From what snippets he could catch someone had accessed sensitive documents in their data banks again and created copies, as well as absconding with all of the technical documents they had recovered thus far.

 

Once Maxson found out this had happened there would be hell to pay. Nate made a mental note to offer his help recovering them if time permitted, preferably later as he was quite certain he didn’t want to be aboard the Prydwen when that news was broken.

 

At eighteenhundred on the dot Haylen approached, her field scribe uniform covered by a large grey coat of similar design to Valentines. She could almost pass for a wastelander in it; red hair tied back in a practical way, pistol at her thigh, clothes sensible and functional. There was just a hint too much of military even with the coat that made her stand out.

 

Looking at the grey coat he could almost hear Nick making a smooth sarcastic comment about it matching.

 

He was grinning like a jackal at the thought when she hoisted herself into the vertibird.

 

She scanned him up and down, noting the lack of uniform and iconography. He was back in his old darkened leathers strapped with haphazardly made armour plating, looking more like a raider than a Brotherhood soldier. That had been how he looked nearly a year prior at Cambridge Station when he thrown himself out of the night and into a pack of ghouls to defend them.

 

“We'd best be going now. Quinlans going to be ordering out the thumbscrews and floggings at this rate. The interrogating sort of floggings, not the fun variety.” He smirked, tapping the pilot on the shoulder. “Go, now.”

 

Haylen chose to ignore the lecherous look and dangerous gleam in his eyes.

 

“I walked past on the way here, the thefts are really becoming a problem. The ship is going into lockdown at dawn, all field forces are being recalled. I think Elder Maxson has a solution to the problem already.” Haylen noticed the slight look of concern on his face. “We're pulling back from Diamond city and removing the checkpoints.”

 

“The order never reached me.” Nate seemed quite alarmed at this.

 

“It hasn’t been issued yet, it'll be going out on the radios soon.” Haylen had overheard it only a few hours ago.

 

“And you keep telling me to stop spying on the command chain? Hypocrite.” That wide beaming smile was back in place instantly. Haylen had to admit she had missed his company and _some_ of his natural exuberance.

 

“I overheard it, I didn’t go out of my way to spy on them.” She pulled inwards defensively, there had been absolutely no deliberate inappropriateness in her actions. The tension and paranoia recently over spies and traitors in the ranks had made her weary of accusation.

 

“I've used that excuse plenty of times.” Nate let the smile match his mocking tone.

 

“The situation is worse then anybody is willing to admit. We're out of ammo, out of food, running out of medicine and on the verge of an all out war. We can't trade with the Minutemen anymore and settlers are openly refusing to help us.” she sighed, the moment of weariness of her expression made Nate feel a pang of guilt before his resolve kicked in again. “Keeping food and medicine stocks high is a nightmare. We can barely get ahold of ammunition and replacement parts because the Commonwealth fears we'll use its against them.”

 

“When did this all start happening? Last time I was here everything was fine.” Nate was looking out over the Commonwealth, apparently thinking to himself.

 

“Two weeks ago, maybe a few days less. First the thefts, then the Minutemen situation. Nothing too hard to handle at the time. Not long after all of the vertibirds aboard were damaged, and the replacement parts were nowhere to be found. Since then we've lost supplies, weapons, food stocks. At its worst we lost five full sets of power armour, they must have just climbed in a walked off with them. We're running on emergency supplies since three days ago, strict rationing is in effect.”

 

Haylen reeled off everything she had heard. Maxson had doubled the security, withdrawing a lot of their field forces to guard the Prydwen. It had done nothing to slow the losses, his temper running short.

 

“Any clues who's behind it all, any leads at all? Nobody saw anything?” Nate asked, fiddling with his Pipboy. He seemed really concerned about the security breach, Haylen could recognise the slight dip of his brows that meant he was thinking deeply.

 

“No. The Railroad has been blamed for it, but there's no evidence they're involved at all. I've heard there's a conspiracy to challenge Maxsons leadership, they could be behind it. No proof either way.” She noticed the slight twitch of annoyance at the mention of the Railroad.

 

“Coursers can turn invisible, this could be the Institute draining resources in preparation for an attack. I could see the Gunners being behind it, they use power armour and their soldiers could blend into the rank and file fairly well. I know a detective who could help with this, but you guys aren’t exactly keen on outsiders poking their nose in.” He seemed to be simply thinking out loud. Haylen could guess who the detective was, she had met him once previously during a particular recovery mission.

 

“We'll deal with it eventually.”

 

“Is there anything left to steal? Kitchen sink maybe? Even the first copy of the ship schematics from what I overheard hanging about Command.”

 

Haylen gave him a sharp look. Nate had a habit of skulking about the ship listening in on things when he was bored. His justification was that 'stealth and evasion' practice should be a permanent part of the training rotation and until it was he would get his practice where he could. He always seemed to know when Gladius team were going to get a mission simply by eavesdropping on command meetings.

 

“That'll slow repairs until we get a replacement from the Citadel. If we can even repair with the scrap shortage.”

 

“The Brotherhood will bounce back from it. I think the Codex has a quote for this 'adversity is the hammer that shapes the strongest of steel and shatters the weakest' or something to that effect.”

 

“Accurate word for word.” Haylen looked at him with surprise, Nate had tried to read a copy of the core tenets of the Codex and gotten bored half way through. Danse had to force him to finish it under much protest.

 

Her look turned accusatory, questioning just when and why he had been reading the codex enough to quote it.

 

“Lets change the topic, I want today to be happy.” Nate finally found what he was looking for on the pipboy, playfully flicking the dial.

 

The tiny device blared out a pretty decent rendition of 'Flight of the Valkyries' much to his great amusement. Haylen just shook her head. She really wished Danse was with them. That song had become Gladius teams unofficial march to war. Whenever they would ride out on a mission Knight Nathan would play it and sing along to the 'dun, dun dun dun, der' part as loudly as he could whilst Paladin Danse tried his hardest to keep a straight face. The Paladin would never admit to finding some measure of joy at his juvenile antics, burying any trace behind a frown and admonishments.

 

Why his unprofessional attitude hadn't got him into serious trouble yet was a mystery. He had several misconduct hearings under his belt mostly related to his antagonism of Knight Rhys, but nothing ever seemed to come of them.

 

Whenever it was just Danse and Nate on an operation Haylen would stand on dock and just watch until their vertibird took off and the engine sounds drowned out the terrible warbling. Danse and Nate were often deployed as a set when a site simply needed purging of undeniable elements, Rhys and Haylen joining them for most other types of assignment.

 

The times where the whole team was in the vertibird enroute to a mission were tense for reasons other than pre-op nerves. Danse kept close watch over Rhys should his temper ever run out and he decide to boot his fellow Knight overboard along with his music playing Pipboy. Once they reached their objective Nate shifted instantly from bad attitude and wide grins to sombre, meticulous and quiet.

 

Knight Nathan was only humming along to it this time. He caught her attention for a moment, as lost as she was in thought and memory she snapped back instantly. His gaze became briefly very intense and piercing, that same look from lunch in the mess that meant something conspiratorial; 'I chose to play this for a reason' was what he was likely trying to say.

 

The grin was back and he again idly looked out over the Commonwealth.

 

“I wanted to ask you something.” Haylen chose the moment, her curiosity had been eating at her for a while.

 

“Its known that you used to help the Railroad. If the Elder was willing to overlook it I can too. Its just there a rumour that they betrayed you over something you did, what happened with Danse was part of it. Is it true?”

 

“I can bet Rhys was at the start of it.” Nate's brow furrowed in the look of annoyance. Rhys had been there when Nate had shouted at the captured Railroad agent. “You're asking me because its a rumour, and its rumour and not a stated fact I’d be willing to bet because Maxson had the information classified. Tell me plainly what you've heard.”

 

“You killed three of their agents because they turned against you for killing Danse after he was revealed as a synth.” She leaned in closer and lowered her voice so only he could hear it. “If Danse is alive then something doesn’t add up there, there's more to this. Why does the Railroad have a bounty out against you?”

 

“I'll explain everything later. The situation is lot more complex than you'd think and i'd rather do it somewhere private.”

 

The short journey was already over before the song ended, a petulant flick of a dial silencing it just as they touched down.

 

Nate slid from the vertibird gracefully, offering Haylen a hand down.

 

“Very gentlemanly of you, I could almost imagine this was a date.”

 

“It is.” He smiled mysteriously, pausing momentarily before adding: “Not for you, i'm meeting a special certain someone.”

 

It didn’t pass her attention that he timed saying that last part with the engine cycling back up, muffling it to the pilot. Now its just looked like impropriety in the ranks rather than whatever this was that was happening.

 

“I'll try to contain my disappointment.” She gave him the same look Danse gave him when he was being sarcastic, pursed lips and faint disappointment.

 

“You can ask them yourself, I never disappoint.” He said that with a wink, a face splitting smile and the slightest bit of tongue sticking out.

 

The stern look didn’t ebb for one moment.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The reason for the 'Day XX Since the incident' marker at the start of every chapter is me jumping about the timeline. Almost every day of the 21 has a chapter, plus the incident itself and a few set months before.


	3. From the Beginning

Day 19 since the Incident at Listening Post Bravo 

 

 

 

 

Nate strode with confidence through the narrow streets, flashing a lax version of an old world salute at certain windows he knew had Hancocks snipers in them. His only response was the briefest of shine from the lens as they took their scopes off of him and returned to scanning the horizon.

 

Haylen had read the reports and knew what had happened here recently. There had been a concentrated effort by the mayor of Goodneighbour to secure the immediate area around the settlement taking advantage of the Brotherhood and Minutemen forces that were routinely sweeping the area. This part of the city was generally considered off limits to all but full teams.

 

He had swung the doors of Goodneighbour open with a flourish and walked in like he owned the place. Several less than reputable characters looked up at him, shaking their heads at each other at his presence. Haylen had drawn a little apprehensive attention but they kept a wide berth of her because of who was her company for the evening.

 

Haylen knew the place by reputation; ghouls, criminals, The Railroad and all manner of synth sympathisers could be found within its walls. The Brotherhood had a standing order not to approach unless necessary, and only to enter if a commanding officer authorised.

 

The place was crowded more than she had anticipated. She had to keep her head low for fear of being recognised, she could pick out many people wearing the distinct jackets of the Atom Cats amongst the Minutemen and several others in uniforms she didn’t recognise. Their presence in Goodneighbour was unusual in such numbers. The Brotherhood had made enemies of both in recent weeks.

 

The only reason she was here was Paladin Nathan was of rank to authorise their presence, and her curiosity had gotten the better of her. She needed to know if Danse was alive or not.

 

Nate passed by a window into a rather stately looking building, tapping on it several times rapidly. He got a shouting answer from somewhere inside.

 

He made a quick detour into a shop run by an assaultron. Haylen stood in the corner watching, uncertain what to make of the war machine peddling wares. Nate handed over a note and a bag of caps, requesting that the 'standing order' be upped by however much the amount could buy.

 

“For you, anything.” the tinny voice had responded, a hand running up its armoured flank sensually.

 

“So forward, a woman after my own heart.” Nate brought his hand up to his chest, fanning himself with the other whilst wearing a cheeky grin.

 

“I have heard a rumour that you don't object to doing the horizontal tango with those of the artificial persuasion.” Kleo leaned over the counter, sweeping the caps toward herself.

 

Nate actually turned an interesting colour. Haylen shot him a questioning look which he seemed to ignore.

 

“I'm taken, and you know that all too well.” He composed himself quickly, pushing down the warmth reddening his cheeks.

 

“I'm all woman under the plating, but I think that might be the problem. I've seen the hunk of artificial man meat you've attached yourself to.” The emphasis had been put on 'man' deeply.

 

The look Haylen was giving him turned even more dour and inquisitive, and a lot harder to ignore.

 

There was a cough from the doorway, the kind meant to draw attention.

 

“Play nice Kleo, our friend here deserves a little happiness.” The voice was scratchy, but smoother than usual for a ghoul.

 

Haylen startled, the first thing she saw was the red coated ghoul leaning against the doorframe. She tried not to stare, heart rate spiking wildly. Her previous thoughts were gone in an instant leaving Nate grateful for the impromptu rescue from that awkward situation.

 

Nate took him into a wide hug, the ghoul gently pushing him back with a laugh.

 

“Hancock, good to see you not passed out in the gutter.”

 

“I was just settling down to a nice meal and enough Jet to knock a town on its ass when you come hammering on my window. What do I owe the pleasure?” The leathery skin of his cheeks wrinkled into a toothy smile.

 

“I got this for you, private stuff.” Nate handed over an envelope. The ghoul took it and put it somewhere inside his coat.

 

“And here I thought you just wanted the pleasure of my company. Speaking of pleasure, who's the little lady you got trailing after you?” Hancock took off his hat with a flourish, offering her a polite bow.

 

“This is Haylen, we work together.” Nate shrugged, pinning the Ghoul with the most brief of serious looks that carried a deeper meaning.

 

The ghoul gave her an odd look, and quickly curiosity swapped for suspicious understanding.

 

“I wont ask to shake your hand then, I know what you types get like about us Hammer Horror looking sorts. Have a good evening you two, and remember everyone’s welcome in Goodneighbour.” The mayor left without another word, Haylen still frozen on the spot in the corner having a momentary flash of the incident at Cambridge station a year prior.

 

With a shudder and a rising sick feeling she shrugged it off. Common sense told her that if he was articulate then he wasn’t far enough degraded to be a threat or to desire the warm flesh of the living. She recognised the ghoul now that her thoughts were clear again, she had met him several months ago when Gladius team was told to they were not welcome in Goodneighbour. He evidently didn’t recognise her out of uniform.

 

Nate said his goodbyes to Kleo and ushered Haylen out of there in a hurry, hoping she wasn’t about to ask a lot of questions he wasnt preperared to answer yet.

 

The Third Rail hadn't been quite what Haylen was expecting. The ghoul guarding the door gave them a familiar nod as they entered, Nate flicking him a single cap.

 

The official records aboard the Prydwen made it sound like the worst place to be found, a den of vice and degradation that could drag even the mostly staunchly loyal to the path of Steel down with it. It was surprisingly peaceful.

 

The slightest trickle of doubt made itself known to the scribe. She had once trusted Nate and put faith in his judgement if not his good behaviour. He had always been seen to be loyal to the Brotherhood and its ways, but now she could see that perhaps Nate wasn't so staunchly adherent to the Brotherhoods doctrines as she had believed.

 

She had bargained for Danse's life against everything she was supposed to believe. He was an abomination just like the ghouls. Worse perhaps, ghouls were at least born human before becoming afflicted. If she had truly believed all synths were evil she would have volunteered for the mission herself.

 

It was more than a passing suspicion that Nate might have been devious enough to have gambled upon that flicker of doubt by bringing her to Goodneighbour. She knew he had a streak of mischief in amongst the insubordination. The Knight might have been trying to lead her down a path away from the Brotherhood.

 

The air in the dimly lit bar was heavy with smoke and another scent she couldn’t rightly place, bitter-sweet and earthy. Nate knew it instantly as the lingering traces of Jet, the air within five paces of Hancock like that constantly.

 

Magnolia was on perfect form that evening, chatting briefly to Nate beforehand and taking a list of requests and a handful of caps from him. It didn’t go unnoticed how shamelessly they flirted with each other, soft smile matching wild grin as they seemed to one up each other before splitting apart.

 

Haylen relaxed somewhat, watching the singer on her little stage softly croon. She almost felt at peace when a shadow cast over her from a rather tall figure in a grey longcoat.

 

“Good evening, mind if I join you two for a moment? After introductions of course.” The accent was old world, Haylen reminded of holotapes from before the war.

 

“Always welcome to Nick.” Nate stood up, shaking his hand and gesturing to a spare stool.

 

“Nick this is Haylen. Haylen, Nick.”

 

Nick offered his hand to her. She stood slowly, not looking away from his eyes for a moment. Nate's smile dropped as he flickered nervously between them. Haylen had visibly stiffened and shifted her weight as if tensed for combat.

 

She took his hand carefully and shook it. It felt cold and skeletal in her grip, her training telling her to either fight or run.

 

The synth appraised her up and down once, noticing the matching coat.

 

“Well one of us has to change.” he said nodding to her. Nate snorted, muttering something that sounded like 'knew it' before apologising with a mutter. “A pleasure to meet you properly, heard nothing but good things from our mutual acquaintances. Our last meeting didn’t exactly go smoothly.”

 

Nate looked between Nick and Haylen, feeling left out of the loop. They had never met to his knowledge.

 

“Its nice to meet you too.” Haylen still hadn't stopped staring unblinkingly, the tension in her body the same one from the moment before combat.

 

Nick looked between them with suspicion, deciding it best he not stay. He could spot the unbroken Brotherhood conditioning on her from fifty paces.

 

“I won't keep you, have an errand to run if you feel like helping me later? Some atom cultists have been causing trouble in the local area and i'm trying to find out where the rats have holed themselves.”

 

“Maybe another time. I'm meeting my favourite tincan tonight.” He smiled as he said it, not the usual deep grin but a soft honest one.

 

“And here I thought I was your favourite tincan.” Mocking disappointment was in his voice.

 

“Close second Nick, close second.” Nate laughed as the synth strode away with a smile on his face.

 

“From what I heard you got up to at Sanctuary a few months ago I would have put myself at third place.” those last few words spoken over his shoulder, no time left for a witty retaliation. For the second time that evening Nate was left embarrassed and speechless, wondering just how Nick had found out about that.

 

Haylen found it a refreshing change of pace for him to be flustered by something other than Danse complimenting him oblivious to the way he blushed and sputtered. The Paladin had been under the misguided impression Nate was selectively modest and really bad at taking compliments.

 

The Scribe could see that Nate and the old synth were close, her furrowed brow asking the obvious question.  
  
It was a strange thing to see a man she had thought so dedicated in the months she had served alongside him fraternise so easily with ghouls and synths. The Brotherhood had recorded that Nate had a 'workable alliance' with both the synth detective and the mayor of Goodneighbour, nothing more.

 

Nate gave her a rather pointed look in return, waiting for Nick to be out of the building before speaking.

 

“He's a close friends and I trust him and have trusted him in the past with my life. He's a good person, if a bit rough around the edges.”

 

“He's rough around the everything from what I’ve seen. Could do with some repairs, a new face maybe.” Haylen tried to make light of the situation, her nervousness shining through brightly.

 

“He's surprisingly attached to that particular face, its his no matter what anybody tells him.” Nate seemed at peace with it. “I know the Brotherhood has told you that they're all evil, but it really isn’t true and I think I need you to understand that properly.”

 

“I don't think Danse is evil.” She said after a moments pause for thought.

 

“You don’t think of him as a synth though.” Nate was scowling now. Something in his words seemed rehearsed, that he had had this exact conversation before. “He's one of us.”

 

He took a deep breath in through his nose, letting it out in a sigh and seemingly relaxed again.

 

“That isn’t the Brotherhood way. They're the enemy.” Haylen wondered if she sounded sure of herself, she didn’t feel it.

 

“You're not the first person to say that to me recently.” A bitter laugh followed, his eyes cast low and unfocused.

 

Something caught his attention, his head darting toward someone across the room.

 

“I'll be back in a moment.”

 

Nate moved swiftly up to the bar, immediately talking with someone. Haylen couldn’t be certain but they seemed very familiar, she just couldn’t place quite where from. The sunglasses were distinct. Beyond that she simply couldn’t recall, but it did raise some unease in her.

 

He was slouching against the bar, wearing an arrogant smirk very familiar to her. She wondered if they were related to Nate. She could recognise the shift in Nates shoulder blades, tensing up the way he would before getting yelled at. Something in their conversation turned bitter, the other person stopped and looked across the room right at her and bringing his tone back to peaceful.

 

The stranger in sunglasses motioned to the exit with a nod before turning on his heel and leaving the establishment. She couldn’t be certain but he seemed to look straight at her through the mirrored glasses just as he reached the stairs up and out. She definitely knew him, and he had recognised her. The where and when had evaded her but it had been recent.

 

Nate returned to their table with a bottle of purified water, a Nuka Quantum, a chilled glass, and a well frosted bottle of Nuka Cherry.

 

Nate took the cap off his Nuka Quantum using the edge of the table, taking a long sip of the glowing liquid and breathing out contentedly.

 

“Associate of yours?” The medic saw the slight flinch at the question. “Whatever you talked about it didn’t look like it went well.”

 

“It didn’t. He doesn’t approve of certain choices I’ve made. Its a bit funny him giving me grief for keeping secrets.” The bitterness was evident.

 

He nudged the water to Haylen who quietly thanked him. Magnolia started her next song, swaying her hips gently upon the stage as she did so. She gave Nate a look across the room, blowing him a kiss between lines. He shot her a dazzling smile back.

 

The front door opened a moment later, the sound of it echoing down through the station. Nate instantly jumped upright from his chair, smoothed down his jacket as if to make himself look presentable and crossed the room.

 

Haylen turned, confused. Her hand moved to her sidearm instinctively, opening the top of the holster and sliding it out under her coat.

 

Nate had thrown himself at the newcomer as their boot touched the last step down, and from what she could see was very much occupied either kissing them or seeing how much of their face they could consume in a single try. Wide hands came to rest on his hips, leaning down to cover the height difference.

 

She slid the pistol back into place and realigned the magnetic clasp, looking away as the kiss went on for an indecent amount of time.

 

This newcomer was taller than Nate by half a head, broadly built and wearing a fairly deep hood and sunglasses. Their clothing was dark, a stealthboy strapped to his left hip the same way Nate had his, a similar modification done to it too only this time the coils it was wired to were a bit more visible under the open jacket.

 

Nate took his hand and lead him awkwardly to the table.

 

It was only when he took off the sunglasses and lowered the hood did Haylen know who it was, but she had suspected.

 

“Its good to see you again Scribe.” That low timbre she thought she'd never hear again.

 

Sitting across from her was Paladin Danse, smiling softly.

 

“I think you're going to have to explain this all from the beginning to me.”

 


	4. Going in Blind and Unseen

 

The Incident at Listening Post Bravo 

 

 

 

 

Nate was thankful that the whine of the engines where almost loud enough to keep his thoughts silent. Other than the pilot he was alone on the vertibird, slouching as best he could in full armour and staring out across the commonwealth.

 

Haylens words were rattling about his head.

 

He had done his best to drag himself back into a calm, collected state. When that had failed he had simply pushed it all down until he looked the part. He was half certain she had seen through it.

 

Time was running out quickly, he had given the pilot a nearby location without thinking when he should have stalled and delayed. He was never the best at planning things out ahead, that was why he needed Preston, Desdemona and Haylen to point him in the right direction. He decided that was going to have to change.

 

That frustration built up until he heard a concerned question over the helmet comms, the Lancer locking the autopilot on for a moment before turning to check on him. He had been grinding his teeth loud enough to set off the microphone in his helmet. He brushed off the concern with a dismissive wave, switching the outbound communications off so he could be unhappy inside his tincan in relative peace.

 

He really wished he wasn't in his power armour at that moment. It was already uncomfortable enough with device at his hip and the metal coils wound around it. His fingers brushed against where his helmet and body armour connected, resisting the urge to open the pressurised release. With each passing minute it felt like it was closing in, the heat building up to unbearable no matter how high he ran the cooling sinks. The HUD was reading the inside temperature to be well within comfortable human tolerance.

 

He could feel a faint tingle all over, like something prickling his skin. He knew it was just a phantom sensation and would go away if ignored.

 

He had once been injected with Psycho by accident, a mistake Curie had made when first getting used to her body and the fallibility of its memory. The comedown was similar, that same crawling of bugs under skin and distracted frustration that kept sweeping up his entire thought process. He already had an aversion to injectable medicine from a bad pre-war experience and that had not helped it in the slightest.

 

He moved his leg, stretching it out until the Stealthboy was not biting against his thigh. He was now not sitting in the most elegant of positions, awkward to rise from in full armour.

 

It was still improperly tested, a botched together mix of disparate technologies from the Brotherhood archives and parts found across the Commonwealth. The coils ran twice concentrically across his chest, one coil at each wrist and ankle, and one around his neck all linked together by strips. It made him feel nauseous to use, like it pushed against the front of his skull.

 

Ingram had sat him down in front of a terminal and made him read the full entry on Stealthboy sickness, making it very known how little she approved of him using them so often. If she knew he had been modifying them to increase the running time he would have had him dragged before the Elder, probably after getting the full brunt of her disappointment and a full bank of tests from Cade.

 

It had been a crowning achievement getting it to work in the first place. He had spent too many of the sparse few nights he had away from the Prydwen sitting in Railroad HQ with a set of tools and the helping hands of Tom and Glory.

 

Deacon had encouraged the whole thing from the beginning. He had appeared at Old Church with a rucksack full of stealthboys and stack of old manilla folders marked with the red Outcasts symbol. A contact of his in Rivet City had found an abandoned Brotherhood Outcasts bunker in the Capital Wastes and passed along everything of value to him. It needed significant work just to get the core principles right and the rest was parts and prototypes salvaged from within the Commonwealth. Deacon of course just sat about as Nate and Tom built it.  
  
It was a shame the first prolonged test had gone so badly. The symptoms were manageable know that they knew of them but it was still deeply unsettling and a somewhat embarrassing memory. Deacon and Desdemona had been surprisingly forgiving once he had downed a bottle of painkillers and returned to his senses. He could recall the activation clearly and how giddy he had been to try it out. He could only vaguely recollect the next few minutes, like they were something incredibly boring from a very long time ago only half remembered at best. Then there was the certainty. He was so sure they were plotting against him, he knew he was in danger and only afterwards was it clear just how wrong he had been.

 

It was a problem some of their longer standing agents had to deal with, some of them never quite recovered. All he had managed to do was quicken its onset. Desdemona ordered the whole project buried, the risk far outweighed the potential reward. Nate had chosen to ignore that order.

 

With a jolt the Vertibird landed, Knight Nathan rising from his idle position slowly and dropping heavily onto dirt and gravel. He tapped the hull twice to signal he was moving off, and as a last minute addition cancelled the return journey. He would make his way back on foot.   
  


He took a few paces back and waited for it to disappear over the trees and out of sight, throwing dust and dead leaves about as it departed.

 

He drew his pried laser rifle and looked toward the bunker wearily. The weapon had been given to him as a gift almost a year ago, an invitation to join the Brotherhood attached to it. Two weeks later he had returned to Cambridge station with a rucksack full of supplies and a definite answer for Danse.

 

Once the sound of the Vertibird rotors had faded completely he slipped out of his power armour, pressed the activation switch crudely soldered to the hanging wires of his stealthboy and jumped back into his armour.

 

It took a moment for it to fully activate, sputtering and surging about as it formed. The field established with a palpable shift of pressure and that horrible congested feeling in the front of his skull. Crouching low he completely faded from sight, the jerry-rigged chameleon device doing its job.

 

He felt strangely calm and light moving about the old military outpost, the defences Danse had put up where clearly designed to deal with a head on assault and were more easily bypassed by someone better suited to sabotage.

 

A strong sensation of downward motion stayed with him.

 

With a sharp jolt he was back to reality, the heat against his thigh almost enough to be a concern. The stealthboy had likely having fried its own coils under the strain. He would have to find a way around the particular problem when he next had access to his tools.

 

He shuddered, ignoring the urge to heave. Throwing up inside his helmet would be a mistake he might not live long to regret. He had heard horror stories of soldiers drowning in similar circumstances.

 

With a calming breath he shrugged off the feeling of pursuit less than successfully. No amount of assurances that it was just old world science messing with his neurochemistry could stop him turning on his heel to confront whatever invisible assailant he was certain had stalked him down underground.

 

The air down here was recycled and stale, damp enough to stick to the chest uncomfortably.

 

He followed the path forward, through a breach into a natural cave and back through into another part of the bunker.

 

There, sitting slumped against the wall was Danse.

 

Nate's breath hitched in his throat, sudden clarity hitting him through the headache and sickness that damned chameleon device left him with. It hit him all too quickly that he had not made a decision and had blindly followed his orders certain it would be clear by the time he got there. It was not clear.

 

Danse looked straight at him. His eyes were darkened, shoulders slouched and lax. It was the look of a man defeated, his guard left down deliberately.

 

The former Paladin didn’t move from his spot, appraising him. Nate was armed, armoured and looking every part the executioner Maxson had ordered him to be, that Danse expected to be coming.

 

Nate hit the internal release, decompressing the armour and opening it up. He slipped out of it and stood in front of the Paladin.

 

“I'm not surprised Maxson sent you. Never liked to do the dirty work himself.” He stood up, brushed himself down and stood ready to face the end. His arms hung limply at his side with no weapon to reach for. He wasn’t expecting to leave that room.

 

“Why didn’t you tell me Danse?” Nate lowered his rifle, flicking the safety on and letting it hang loosely at his side.

 

“Because I didn’t know. Until Quinlan got that list decoded I thought synths were the enemy. I never expected to learn that I was one of them. If it wasn’t for Haylen we wouldn’t even be having this conversation.” He looked down at the rifle with a flicker of recognition in his eyes. “So, what are your orders? Does Maxson even want me alive?”

 

“Of course not.” Nate thought to say something else but just couldn’t summon the right words. He needed time to think, to plan. He needed an escape route from all of this.

 

“I'm not blind to the fact this must be difficult for you. I wish Maxson had sent someone else. But that doesn’t change a thing, I’m a synth. An abomination. I need to be destroyed.”

 

Nate looked at him, jaw clenched hard. He looked at him, tried to say something and found himself silent and averting his gaze instead. He didn’t want to see Danse like that.

 

There was something that horrified Nate in Danse's expression, a quiet kind of acceptance of the end. The Paladin he had followed would fight tooth and claw to the final moments and probably a few moments more if a teammate was in danger. He hated it and hated that they were in this situation.

 

Anger started to bubble to the surface, his grip on the rifle so tight it whitened his knuckles. Danse mistook the furious expression as hate with a kind of grim resolve.

 

“I need to be the example, not the exception. I've never been prouder of you than I am now Brother. Its been a pleasure serving with you.” Danse raised his fist to his chest in a salute, in the split second they made eye contact before Nate flinched they were warm and filled with pride.

 

He took a step back and sank to his knees, head bowed and eyes closed. He was just waiting.

 

Nate lifted his rifle. It shook in his grip.

 

He looked down the ironsights, chest clenching as he did so.

 

This was just another sacrifice to be made for the greater good.

 

He scrunched his eyes shut and took a steadying breath.

 

Danse heard that last deep inhale and then silence, knowing what it meant. Nate was lining up the shot and would fire as he exhaled.

 

There was a loud crack and then silence.  
  
Danse startled almost imperceptibly, looking up when he realised that wasn’t the sound of energy discharge and that he wasn’t dead.

 

“No.”

 

The power cell housing had shattered on impact, thrown against the wall hard enough to scatter plastic and screws across the floor.

 

He looked up to see that fury in Nathan's eyes again, his fists clenched as tightly as his jaw, trembling.

 

“I've already lost too much, I will not lose you too. I care too much about you to let that happen.” Knight Nathan stomped across the room, grabbing Danse by the shoulders of his jumpsuit and pulling him harshly upright.

 

Danse wasn’t certain what Knight Nathan was about to do, the look he wore was more at home punching a raider in the face repeatedly.

 

Nate just held him upright for a moment before swearing to himself.

 

Danse tried to say something, demand an explanation when his mouth was covered and he was pushed back harshly against a wall. Nate was pressed against him, kissing him with a ferocity that completely blindsided the Paladin.

 

The Knight passively noticed that Danse had not taken his or Haylens advice; his lips still cracked and chapped from the harsh environment. His thought were a jumbled, distracted mess.

 

Still in shock it took Danse a moment to realise what was happening. Nate pulled back, looking Danse right in the eye waiting for a response either way.

 

Nate's heartbeat was thundering against his chest so hard Danse could feel it.

 

The Knight watched as his facial expression shifted, brow furrowing before his heavy eyebrows shot up in surprise and understanding. He had thought Nate simply an indiscriminate flirt; his lewdness toward Rhys and charm toward Haylen no different than his passing compliments to himself.

 

“How long have you... how could I have been so blind?” Danse frowned at the vault dweller who was holding onto him with a worryingly tight grip. It was strange to see the man who charged into raider camps with deranged laughter and a chorus of swearwords clinging to him and afraid to let go.

 

Danse gently brought his hand up to his subordinates chest, pushing him back. He could see the split second look of hurt, quashed instantly and replaced with blank calm.

 

“I never realised just how my death might effect you, or Haylen, or Rhys. I'm sorry. I need time to process all of this” He was uncertain how to respond, putting it out of his mind for the immediate future.

 

“I can understand. We need to consider our next move.” Nate took a step back. He straightened himself up, serious demeanour back in place perfectly.

 

“It isn’t safe for me to remain here in the Commonwealth, i'd be putting the rest of my team in danger if I did so.” Danse watched as Nate's expression dropped again for the briefest time.

 

The Knight fell into a thoughtful silence, stooping down to pick up his rifle. He covered the damaged casing with a layer of duct tape as he tried to formulate a plan.

 

Danse unzipped the front of his jumpsuit and reached inside. Nate watched the little flicker of bright blue in the dim light as he gently lifted his holotags over his head and handed them over.

 

“Take these. Use them to prove the mission was a success or Maxson might send someone else.” Nate took them and held them in his bare palm for a moment just looking at them. He had two sets, his own and a much older set that the holographic storage was starting to fail on. Nate didn’t need to be told who they had belonged to.

 

He put them on next to his own. They were still warm from Danse's skin.

 

Ideas were running through his head, plans blooming into life and being struck down as he tried to calculate what the best course to take. He envied Deacons ability to improvise flawlessly in the moment. He needed to contact the Railroad.

 

Danse offered his hand to Nate, still stooped over his damaged rifle. He took it, rising to his feet.

 

“Come on, lets get the hell out of here.” Danse smiled at him, and for that moment all the planning stopped and there was just that warm feeling in his chest.

 

The lift ride back up was not unpleasant. Nate rocked back and forth on his heels; an impressive feat in power armour, whilst humming gently to himself. The helmet voice modulator made the humming into a mess of static and crackling. Inside he was worried about the consequences of his actions, the kiss and the disobeying of a direct order.

 

Danse went ahead of him out into the night air.

 

“How dare you betray the Brotherhood.” That voice made Nates stomach drop, panic gripping him. The headache redoubled, the surge of adrenaline and panic quashing it down again.

 

“Its not his fault. Its mine.”

 

Nate was quick to put himself between Danse and Maxson, he wanted a wall of power armour between them if a gunfight broke out. Danse was unarmed, his own rifle was in undetermined condition and there was no knowing what weapons Maxson had under that coat.

 

“I'll deal with you in a moment.” He looked at Danse with a perfectly blank expression, cutting him off. “Knight, why has this thing not been destroyed?”

 

Nate was silent, weighing up his options. Maxson took his lack of response as guilt.

 

That paranoid anger still swimming in his thoughts made him wonder how bad things would get if he just shot Maxson now and reported his death as an accident. Danse would probably not like that, even after what had happened his loyalty was likely still too strong for his own good.

 

“I suspected you'd have difficulty following my orders. Now that I’ve arrived it appears my instincts were correct. Why is it still alive?”

 

“He is still alive because you are wrong about him.” Nate stood his ground, resisting the urge to bow his head and accept his commanders scorn. He met Maxson's stare with his own through the eye glass of his helmet.

 

“Him? It isn’t a man, its a machine. It wasn't born from a loving mother, it was built within the cold confines of a laboratory. Flesh is flesh, machine is machine. They were never meant to intertwine. The Institute has taken the sanctity of human life and corrupted it beyond measure into that.” He pointed accusingly at Danse.

 

“After all I’ve done for the Brotherhood, all the blood I spilled in your name, how could you say that about me?” Danse stood his ground and was willing to fight. Nate had to suppress the urge to smirk, to be proud of him for standing up to Maxson.

 

“You are the physical embodiment of what we hate most. Technology gone too far.”

 

“I trust him. He believes in the Brotherhood.”

 

“Trust? Those ethics it strives to champion are not even their own. It's thoughts are programmed, its soul manufactured. All artificially inserted in an attempt to blend into society. How can you trust the word of a machine that only thinks its alive?”

 

Nate was still thinking, unable to construct his answer quite fast enough. He was panicking, his plans were already falling apart barely minutes after being made. Maxson took the return of his silence as another guilty admission.

 

“I don’t intend to debate this. My order still stands.”

 

“Its alright.” Danse put his hand on Nate's armoured shoulder. “You did your best. You convinced me not to be ashamed of myself. I go to my grave with no anger and no regrets.”

 

“Touching.” Maxson nearly spat out the word. “Either you execute Danse, or I will.”

 

That buzzing anger rose up again from the front of his skull. He felt too confined in the helmet, clawing at the pressure seals until they released. He threw the helmet to his feet.

 

“After everything we have done, everything we have sacrificed, all the battles we have fought for you. You owe us this much. If I have earned any respect or trust in your service I would swap it in an instant for Danse's life.”

 

Maxson made no move or sound of acknowledgement. The butterfly knife that had found its way into his hands was flicked closed again as he seemed to weigh up the options in his head.

 

The loss of one of the most capable Knights in his service was a very heavy price to pay for the destruction of the traitor. It was also clear something was presently wrong with the Knight. The marks were only noticeable to a trained eye; Slight tremors, his left pupil widening and dilating erratically whilst his right one stayed wide, he was too unpredictable in this present state and might become dangerous if Danse was killed. He had not expected chem abuse from the Knight given his clean record in that area.

 

“It seems we have arrived at an impasse. This leaves me with only a single alternative.” He turned to look at the fallen Paladin. “Danse, as far as I am concerned you died here. You were pursued and slain by the Knight here, your remains incinerated. From this day forward you are forbidden to talk to any member of the Brotherhood, or to set foot on any of our holdings. I will have you hunted down and killed if you choose to ignore this order. Do you understand me?”

 

“Thank you for believing in me, Arthur.” Danse said almost sheepishly.

 

“Don't mistake my mercy for acceptance. The only reason you are alive is because of him.” Maxson turned away from them. Neither the Knight or the Paladin could see the look of regret that had crossed his face. “I'm returning to the Prydwen, Knight. Say your goodbyes, I expect to see you the moment you get back to the ship. We have a lot to discuss.”

 

He returned to his vertibird, landed very nearby.

 

It was only now did Nate realise his arms were sore and trembling from the strain. He had been holding his rifle up, aimed straight at the Elder the entire time. He had been maybe one mad impulse away from murdering the Elder.

 

Once the vertibird was in the air he gently let himself slump to the floor. The gravel was surprisingly comfortable with an inch or so of powered metal between him and it, inviting him to just lay down and stop for a little while. With one last surge of energy he pressed the full release and crawled out.

 

He rested against the side of his armour with the widest of disbelieving smirks at what he had just done.

 

“That went better than I expected.” His tone was light, conversational, as if commenting on the weather.

 

“I suppose so. Now would you care to tell me what the hell is wrong with you.” Danse stooped low and watched how bloodshot his eyes had gotten.

 

“Have you got a pen and paper to hand, it a pretty long list. Cade could get you a print out if your willing to bring him an arms length of paper.” He smirked up at him hoping to deflect the question. Danse just looked through him. The vault dweller guiltily tapped the leg where the Stealthboy was mounted. “Stealthboy sickness.”

 

“I warned you not to rely upon them so heavily, its why we specifically limit their use and mandate rest time afterwards. How heavily have you been using them?” Danse traced the outline of the coil along his thigh oblivious to the faint smile that crept into the Knights face.

 

“Modified, made it a bit less safe to use. Tried to make it more like the chameleon armour you guys have locked up back at the Citadel. I'm still working on it.” He chuckled to himself. He was disappointed when Danse pulled back from following the wire.

 

“I'm fairly certain the Proctors didn’t authorise you to modify the tech. That was a foolish, reckless thing to do.” Danse hoisted them up, draping their arm across his shoulders. He had to hunch slightly for the height difference.

 

Danse twisted the seal and removed the fusion core from Knight Nathans armour, carrying it at his other side.

 

Once he had Nathan inside he put out the bedroll and ordered him to sleep. He didn’t protest.

 

The former Paladin sat with his thoughts for some time, keeping a passive eye on the sleeping Knight. He was glad to have somebody still on his side.  
  


He dreaded having to discuss exactly what had happened. He needed an explanation for it.

 

He needed to know if those feelings had been what compromised the mission. He didn’t want to see Nathan destroy his future with the Brotherhood because of an infatuation.

  
The sleeping bag was wide enough opened up for both of them. He laid down carefully so not to disturb Nate, keeping his arms folded over his chest. He was close enough that they were conserving heat without it being inappropriate. A stray thought reminded him that Nates recent actions made it clear he wouldn’t object to being a lot closer.

 

The Knight muttered something contentedly in his sleep, pushing back against Danse to get nearer to the heat source. The fallen Paladin let the slightest of frowns crease his forehead.

 

He put the thoughts out of his head for the moment, letting himself fall asleep.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I take a few liberties with canon and bend a few things to suit my needs:
> 
> One of them is the timeframe, the events of Fallout 4 happen over roughly three or four months in game, depending on playstyle. In this its over a year, the setting is late 2288, Nathan defrosted October 2287. I figured it could be stretched out a bit to account for a few changes I wanted to make, especially Sole becoming a permanent part of Gladius team and not being such a green rookie to the Brotherhood. It also means that certain other development happen a but more naturally, such as the Minutemen rising to power, and I can fluff a few changes to Goodneighbour and the Railroad to suit the story.
> 
> My other little change is stealthboys. In canon they cause long term damage in the form of mental health issues. I figured you don't get such drastic long term damage unless something is screwing with your neurochemistry at least a little bit each time. It screws with short term memory and makes the user paranoid and on edge. Extended use causes headaches. Overuse would be very, very bad. The modified device was me trying to justify the chameleon effect you get on some armours with inworld reasoning.


	5. Try to Look Guilty

 

Day 1 since the Incident at Listening Post Bravo

 

 

 

 

 

It was a slow process, Nate coming slowly to his senses over a few minutes. The headache he had gone to sleep with was still faintly there, sharply reminding him of the hangover he had gotten from the stuff the Lancers had brewed from the Prydwens spare antifreeze.

 

As more of his senses returned he became very aware of Danse shallow breathing against the back of his neck and the warmth of his body pressed against him.

 

Nate had slept deeply but fitfully, several times during the night his almost feverish twitching knocking Danse awake and deepening his concern at what damage he might have done to himself.

 

He chose not to move for risk of waking up the Paladin, surprised he was awake before him. This was likely the first time the Knight had ever been up before the Paladin, even when they made camp out in the field Danse was up just as dawn started and Nate was awake whenever Rhys kicked him hard enough.

 

Danse was not actually asleep, he had been lightly dozing for the last hour using the time to think to himself. He had awoken at dawn, pulling back is if touching scolding metal when he had realized just how tightly he had pulled Nate against himself. He had then very carefully extracted his arm and disentangled their legs, putting as much respectable distance between them whilst still conserving heat.

 

Nate was content to just enjoy the limited contact, trying very hard not to let the guilt and doubt seep in and ruin it. He idly wondered if this was the first and last time this was going to happen, instantly spoiling any enjoyment of it.

  
He pretended to still be asleep as Danse rose from the bedroll and retreated to where Righteous Authority had been laid out. He sat with it solemnly, gently stripping it down to its components and did much needed field repairs to whittle away the time. He looked up as the Knight shifted about in the bedroll a few times before propping himself up on his elbows, giving him the faintest of smiles.  
  
Questions lingered in the air between them with neither brave enough to ask. They both took the others silence as a bad sign and chose to skirt around it.

 

When Nate finally built up the energy to move his attitude was very deliberately and very obviously no different then usual. Danse could almost believe they were just out on a mission together.  
  
Danse went through his morning exercises and Nate made his excuses not to do them. The former Paladin didn’t press him into doing it as he usually would, not wanting to deal with the feigned petulance that always seemed to get a sharp reaction from Rhys and an amused smile from Haylen.

 

Nate sat with his uniform half on, the webbing and pouches scattered haphazardly around him and boots unlaced. If it wasn’t for the patch on his arm with the Knight rank stripes he would easily be mistaken for a field scribe. He was slowly sipping a bottle of Nuka as Danse did a rotation of pressups and situps.

 

It was now dawning on his just how monumental what he had done actually was. He had pointed a loaded weapon at his commanding officers commanding officer not five minutes after kissing the man he was supposed to be executing.

 

He had let his attraction to his commanding officer manifest at the worst possible moment. Danse had been at his lowest, his most vulnerable, and Nate had without really realising it at the time put him in an awkward situation. Danse needed help, and the person best able to do so wanted something from him he might not be able to give.

 

The idea of Danse feeling obligated to him in that way left a disquieting sensation in his stomach he didn’t want to address. As much as he wanted Danse, he wanted Danse to want him back more. He filed those thoughts away before they could find a name for themselves, knowing full well he did not have the energy to deal with those kind of emotions especially not so awfully early in the day.

  
The ever deepening look must have drawn the Paladins attention as he was stirred from his thoughts with a gentle nudge and a concerned look. He shrugged, sipping from his bottle of Nuka again. Feelings were to be bottled away and dealt with at a later date.

 

Breakfast was what few supplies Haylen had thrown into a bag when she had warned Danse to run. They huddled around a tin of soup heated by a fusion cell rigged to an improvised heating coil, taking turns to have a spoonful each until it was gone. By that point the silence between them had gone on for a half hour and was starting to wear at them both. It wasn’t the comfortable silence of a team well practiced to the point that words were unnecessary. They were both pretending very hard that it was.  
  
“I don't want this to come between us.” It was as they were packing up Danse finally broke the silence. Nate had startled so hard he fumbled the wrap of stimpaks he had been checking and caught them awkwardly. “I don't know how to respond to what happened, not yet at least.”  


Nate was frozen in place, it felt like his heart had clenched hard and the rest of his had followed suit a moment later.

  
“I'm sorry if I overstepped my bounds.” It took a few long seconds for him to find anything to say. The Knight looked to the floor rather than up at the Paladin.  
  
“Don't be sorry. I cannot deny I am closer to you than just about anyone else.” Danse felt the weight from his own shoulder lighten at the shy smile he got in return.

 

The shy demeanour was gone in a few moments and a deep breath, Nate shifting back into his usual smug, grinning arrogance easily.

 

Danse tried very hard to ignore the tug at his chest seeing that moment of openness and vulnerability. Even with what had happened he didnt want to cast off the rules and propriety that had governed the last decade of his life.

 

Knight Nathan was his brother in Steel and even with his terrible, insubordinate attitude they were part of a team and a strict heirarchy. Haylen, Rhys and Nate were like family to him. They fought together (and against each other in Rhys and Nate's case), they ate together, lived together, confided in each other. Those months were they operated together as a single unit were the happiest he could recall in a long time. He liked having both purpose and closeness.

 

The times when they were apart; Haylen being attached to other teams as a medic when none else were available, Rhys working at Cambridge Station and Nate off wandering the wasteland had hit him surprisingly hard. It was no stretch of the imagination to see that they had grown very close, Nate apparently closer than he had thought.

 

When Nate had requested to be put into permanent duty rotation as a full member of Gladius team Danse had actually celebrated, even if the circumstances and the reason were less than ideal. Something had happened during the infiltration of the Institute that he refused to talk about, Maxson brushing off the concerned questions with a blanket statement of it being classified information to be known only by Knight Nathan and himself.

 

Danse had opened his quarters to them, uncertain whether to be proud of their resourcefulness or ashamed at their insubordination when they brought an astounding amount of contraband strength alcohol to his room. The smell made him certain it could strip paint. He had found out later the Lancers were using it to strip rust.

 

With the minimum of four members they were now a fully established operation team again, and spent their first day together getting really drunk.

 

Nate had been surprisingly quiet the whole time, throwing himself a little too hard into the alcohol. Danse had allowed it, suspecting he might need the temporary reprieve from his senses.

 

The next morning had been awkward. The team awoke in pain at the midday announcements; Nate using a mortified Rhys as a pillow, Haylen sleeping on Danse's bed whilst Danse was sprawled across the floor. It was made all the worse by the note duct taped to Danse from Maxson requesting they come to Command for a 'serious talk' once they were able to think straight. All of their holotags had been removed and wrapped around the note, a warning at just how hard they had knocked the senses out of themselves. None of them could look their Elder in the eye when they did finally head up to Command deck. Rhys had a wet patch on his uniform that didn’t dry in time, proof that Nate drooled in his sleep when knocked out cold.

 

The fallen Paladin finished packing up his supplies ready to leave at first notice and dismissed the memories of happier times from his mind. He needed to decide what had been his own choices and what were dictated by decorum and protocol. The idea of a relationship was something complicated he had not been prepared to deal with.

 

Maxson had ordered Danse to have no contact with any member of the Brotherhood and that technically included Nate. Nate responded to that by saying where Maxson could stick that order, sideways.

 

It was with a heavy heart that Nate took to the elevator, promising he would be back quickly.

 

The morning light was brighter than he would have liked, the morning birds a little too loud for him. The headache was still making itself known in the most obnoxious way posssible. He was almost tempted to take one of the painkillers Curie had cooked up for him. They were not meant for such casual use and he knew he needed a clear head for the day coming, not to show up with a head full of warm haze the day after an act of serious insubordination bordering on treason.

 

Two hundred years of deep freeze had left him with an unusual set of minor health issues, and that medicine was strictly for handling just that. Even Cade had given him the go ahead to use them if needed, a note in his medical records made to account for it.

 

He carefully schooled his features, practising how he would look upon returning to the Prydwen. A heavy expression and heavy footsteps would do just fine. It was not a well kept secret that him and Danse had been close, and he wanted it to look like he had followed his orders to the letter and was angry about it.

 

His power armour had survived the night intact, it was just full of dead leaves and dirt that he had to carefully clean out. He cursed himself for forgetting to even throw a weighted sheet over it.

 

Once inside it he ran a quick diagnostic, all system reporting back within vaguely tolerable stresses.

 

The journey back to the airport was almost uneventful. He had carefully avoided the areas he knew were frequented by raiders, sticking to the paths that trade caravans had reported safe to the Minutemen.  
  
It was only when a stone clinked off his helmet did he draw his weapon and drop into a crouch, scanning the immediate area.

 

From out behind the trees a single raider approached, stepping onto the broken highway and holding his weapon up in the air in a gesture of surrender. Nate approached slowly whilst watching the few nearby buildings for signs of movement or the tell tale glint of a scope.

 

It was only when he approached closer did he see the mirrored sunglasses, lowering his weapon.

 

“Not who I was expecting to see today.” Nate raised an eyebrow at Deacon.

 

“You've been off the map for a week and we needed to contact you before something bad happened. Judging from what i'm seeing here i'm too late.” Deacon gestured to the broken laser.

 

“Too late for what?”

 

“I'm guessing you've had a bad day and wondered if you needed anything?” He drew a cigarette from a pocket, lighting it with a battered zippo lighter. “A magazine? Foot rub? Shoulder to cry on?”

 

“What have you heard?” The tone cut right through Deacons attempt to dodge around the question.

 

“M7-97 got rumbled. I know you two were close.”

 

“You knew he was a synth? Why didn’t you tell me?” Nate didn’t have the anger in him to raise his voice, espcially not againt Deacon. He was still reeling from the fact he had actually yelled at Maxson. He was all to aware that it was going to have dire consequences.

 

“Only found out a week ago. Pam was going through some really old records from before my time and flagged it up. A few days later we find out the Brotherhood cracked the Institute records and it wasn’t hard to guess what would happen next.” Deacon let out a sigh. “You're not easy to contact. Des wanted him brought in and shipped to safety.”

 

“What was the plan?”

 

“You're still owed a favour by Dima, right? Pretty certain Carrington was pushing to have one of our own inside Acadia too. Two birds, one tincan shaped stone. I was supposed to give you this to take back as proof Danse was dead.” He held a synth component for Nate to see.

 

“Awfully generous of Des.” Nate snorted at the offered piece.

 

“She wanted to pump him for information. Not the only one who wanted to pump him I think, if you get my meaning.”

 

“Not now.” He shook his head at Deacons waggling eyebrows.

 

“I know it isn’t worth much but I’m sorry. If we'd gotten a message to you somehow then maybe this could have been avoided.” Deacon lowered his glasses for a moment, his expression briefly sober and sombre. “You'd just have to find an opening in your day planner where you could convince him to drop the Brotherhood and elope with you, somewhere between puppy-dog eyes and batting your eyelashes at him. Too late now I suppose.”  


“Danse isn't dead.” Nate swallow heavily. “We need a safehouse and eyes on location. Its only a matter of time before they come after him. We've got maybe a day.”

 

“Done and done. Not wanting to question your loyalties at all but aren't you one of them? I know you like to help us on the sly but this feels like full blown treason in the making. You're helping a known synth evade capture.” He took a drag of his cigarette and blew out a rather pleasing ring of smoke.

 

“Ad Victoriam.” The words were bitter, wrapped around a faint smile.

 

“If you insist.” Deacon shrugged.

 

“I'm going to need supplies, a dead drop and a list of everybody who owes me a favour.” He was making that serious face that Deacon never liked, he much preferred when they both were wildly grinning and causing trouble. “I'm also going to need the chameleon device repaired, and if possible another set of armour with it integrated.”

 

“Is this going where I think this is going?” Deacon made a gesture with his hands that suggested an explosion.

 

Nates brows crinkled as he tried to interpret what he meant. His expression darkened when he got it; the shelved plan to blow up the Prydwen. He had openly challenged Desdemona and made it clear he would not let them attack the Brotherhood.

 

“Its not going anywhere hopefully, I just don't want to be blindsided again. I'll be heading back to the listening post later, can you meet me there?”

 

“Of course.”

 

“Bring someone along with you. Someone who can help, see if Nick or Curie are free.”

 

“Interesting choices.” Deacon raised an eyebrow over the top of his sunglassses.

 

“Got to start somewhere. He's got a lifetime worth of Brotherhood doctrine telling him what to do and who to hate. Small steps.” Nate was lost in thought for a moment, weighing up how much faith he had put into those same doctrines so short a time ago.

 

“Shouldn’t you have a head full of that same crap?”

 

“Ad. Victoriam.” Was his stiff response.

 

“If you insist. Later.”

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

  
  
The approach to the airport was tense, the checkpoint in had avoided eye contact and kept their distance. It was not hard for him to guess why.  


Once aboard the Prydwen Nate made certain to march his way through the ship trying his hardest to look like he was having a really bad day.

 

He passed by Haylen who was supposed to be on duty. He had hoped she would be at her post so he wouldn’t have to deal with her.

 

She had rushed to greet him and stopping in her tracks when she saw his foul mood. She looked a bit worse for wear. At a guess she probably hadn't slept all that well the night before.

 

He caught her eye briefly, immediately flinching away. He didn’t want her to get suspicious. She could read him like an open book and he needed to be certain that the Brotherhood believed Danse was dead. She would definitely be able to tell if he was lying, he would have to keep his distance from her for the time being at least until he could quietly tell her the truth.

 

Once he approached the command deck to took a moment to steady himself. He was quite certain that this wasn't going to be a very pleasant dressing down from his commanding officer.

 

Entering Maxsons command post he stood to attention, giving a brief salute.

 

Maxson turned from the view out over the Commonwealth and looked straight through Nate, disappointment undisguised.

 

“Dismissed.” He nodded to the guards on the entrance. “I would like privacy, see that nobody disturbs us.”

 

The guards saluted and marched away. Nate was really hoping that didn’t mean he was about to be intimately acquainted with a pair of bullets and a traitors grave.

 

Maxson wasn't as furious as expected. The entire time his tone was controlled and calm but no less harsh and criticising.

 

He spoke about how much of a betrayal his siding with Danse was, how they had compromised everything the Brotherhood stood for because he couldn't disengage his personal and professional feelings. How disappointed he was that such a promising recruit could fail so utterly at such a simple task. At a certain point Nate had simply stopped listening and just nodded when it felt appropriate.

 

The promotion was unexpected and shook him from his stupor. Maxson had quite casually just handed him the rank to close the gap Danse had left. Danses possessions were given to him seemingly as an afterthought. The whole thing just made him feel bitter.

 

The mention of his 'chem induced shakes' was barely a footnote in the conversation. Maxson likely wanted him gone and was satisfied with the thin excuse about Danses security being too difficult to hack, forcing him to use Mentats. He promised never to use chems again. He appeared to accept that answer.

 

The meeting was short and tense, Maxson looking all the more weary by the end of it. The Elder made certain to have Nate's attention, catching his gaze with his own steely blue eyes and sending him away without blinking.

 

“Congratulations Paladin, and I expect you won't disappoint me or your brothers and sister again. Dismissed.” Elder Maxson looked pointedly toward the door, his expression very much saying 'get out of my sight now' without words. “Tell the guards to return to their post when you pass them.”

 

Nate fled straight to Proctor Ingrams section of the ship. In his haste he very nearly ran straight into Scribe Haylen.

 

He needed a lie in a hurry, easily believable, hard to disprove. His opened his mouth several times trying to speak. Nothing came into his head. He muttered an apology and ushered past her quickly.

  
That parting look cut straight through him. It wasn’t anger, it was cold acceptance of betrayal. She had trusted him and from her perspective he had lied to her and killed one of her closest friends. It would at least go a long way to keeping Danse's survival a secret a little longer. That knowledge didn’t soften the blow very much.

 

He would have to do something later to make it up to her.

 

He shuffled up against the armour dock, holding the release until it had completely decompressed and he could climb out. It wouldn't be difficult to come back for his own armour later, getting Danse's armour back where it belonged felt far more important.

 

With a twist of the less that expertly maintained mechanism he took the fusion core out of his own suit and carried it over to Danses. Almost reverently he slotted it in, running his hand over the heavy slabs of metal as if the Paladin was still in them. He caught himself doing it, a faint colour encroaching on his cheeks and an embarrassed laugh at his lips. Nobody else was around to see or hear that luckily.

 

He climbed in carefully and waited for it to close and control to initialise. He noted with a frown just how smoothly its internal systems booted up, his own armour had a coin flip chance of making the sound of a wounded deathclaw whenever the cooling was first engaged. The first time that happened aboard the ship it had startled and scattered a handful of nearby initiates and very quickly brought the wrath of Ingram down on him.

 

Inside It smelt strongly of power armour grease and cherry Nuka. That was the scent he had woken up to that morning. It was nice to be held again by someone other than a chemed out Hancock that had climbed into the wrong bed.

 

He went straight to Danse's quarters, pushing open the door. It was exactly how it had been when he was last there with the team. There was even a spare set of mattresses, Danse likely planning to have the team bed down for winter again in his heated quarters rather than the crew compartment or the station.

 

There was an old military duffel bag still in passable condition in the corner that suited his needs. He emptied out the room of all the spare clothing, books, magazines, everything he could get his hands on. The sheets on the bed had his scent on too, and he would probably want a familiar pillow.

 

Almost with reverence he wrapped Danse's power armour manual in a layer of clothing, it had belonged to several people important to Danse in the past and he didn't want to see it damaged. He had seen how much it had meant to the Paladin.

 

He lifted the bed and moved it aside. A loud crunch underfoot caused him to swear to himself and freeze in place. He very much needed to not get caught taking all of Danse's stuff to him. After a long, breathless moment he relaxed.

 

Looking down it seemed he had destroyed one of Danse's supply of Nuka Cherry. They were all neatly arranged in a line except for the one he had disturbed, right next to an old steel ammunition case. Cracking open the case revealed it was full of fancy lads snack cakes. Nate smiled broadly to himself, that was exactly what Danse needed bringing right now.

 

Certain that everything that could be taken was in the bag he quickly tried to make an escape, closing the door softly after himself whilst looking around for witnesses.

 

He almost made his escape without being seen.

 

His path was crossed by Haylen again. There was a moment of swearing to himself in the confines of his own head before he reigned himself in.

 

With a great deal of effort he tried to look guilty. There would be time later to put things right. That was what he told himself as he made it seem like he was ignoring her. From the flicker of hurt in her eyes it had worked, that look twisting the knot in his chest painfully.

 

His heart was racing again so much he was sure he would be discovered. He needed to compliment Deacon at some point on doing this kind of thing professionally, maybe even ask for some training in being a spy.

 

Once off the Prydwen he was a lot more at ease. There was something inherently wrong about treating his brothers and sister like the enemy. It prickled under his skin and sat uncomfortably in his thoughts.

 

He really wished it was just residual stealthboy sickness.

 

His loyalty wasn't to the Brotherhood, that much he had decided. It had always been to Danse, Haylen and begrudgingly to Rhys.

 


	6. The Popsicle, The Tincan and The Hover-Doc

Day 1 since the Incident at Listening Post Bravo

 

 

 

 

 

He reached the listening post on foot just as night was approaching with the first few stars appearing in the sky.

 

Deacon was just inside the entrance, spinning idly on an threadbare office chair that had somehow survived the centuries. He had changed his clothes again, trading the raider disguise for that of a caravan merchant. Curie was sat legs crossed on the floor reading a book next to him, looking rather uncomfortable in body armour far too many sizes above her petite frame. Nate had insisted she wear a sensible amount of armour when travelling.

 

Deacon looked up, pretending to be surprised at his appearance. Nate had spotted the blinking movement sensors scattered about outside, the same type that the approach to Old Church was covered in. On closer inspection they had the haphazard tool marks easily recognised as Tinkers Toms handiwork.

 

“About time, if i'd known you would be so long i'd have brought a book. Been meaning to read the autobiography of Caravaggio, its sitting on a shelf gathering dust thanks to you.” He was smiling ever so slightly, still spinning slowly counter-clockwise.

 

“Good to see you too.” Nate sighed ever so slightly, turning to greet the medic. “Curie.”

 

He threw open his arms wide toward her as she scrambled from her sitting position and threw herself into his chest, Nate catching her in a hug and spinning her about off her feet to a delighted squeal of laughter.

 

“It is good to see you my friend.” She said skipping free from Nate's hug. “Are you well?”

 

“Better than I have been for a long while.” He replied softly, a genuine smile on his face.

 

“You are positively glowing, and not with radiation poisoning for once. Does this have something to do with Monsieur Danse. Deacon called him 'your little tin can boy toy' I believe.” Curie piped up.

 

Nate gave Deacon a sharp, sidelong glance. Deacon seemed to be feigning interest in something else and doing a terrible job of not looking guilty.

 

“Does Danse know you're here yet?” Nate sidestepped the question.

 

“No idea. Nobodies been in or out all day as far as I can tell. Nobodies approached either as best as I’ve seen.” Deacon had an unlit cigarette between his lips. Just as he flicked open his lighter Curie marched over, snatching it from him with a pout and an admonishment about ruining his lungs. He tried grab it back, the medic putting a foot on his wheeled chair and rolling him away whilst jumping back out of his reach.

 

Deacon rolled across the room, looking to Nate to help him. There was a very deliberate show of not offering any in response to the 'boy toy' comment.

 

With a smug grin in place Nate opened the lift, holding it and gracefully motioning for Curie to enter first in an exaggerated gentlemanly fashion. Deacon scowled very slightly at him as he stepped in, no real malice in it

She stepped in, doing a little twirl on the spot as she did so.

 

The lift sputtered to life with an uncomfortable lurch, the electronic announcer telling them they were heading down.

 

“Did Deacon tell you everything about what happened?”

 

“Tincan was a tin can in a tin can, who could have seen that twist coming?” Deacon snorted a laugh. “We just need to find him a tank, then tincan can be tincan in a tin can in a tin can. Do you ever say a word so many times it stops feeling like a word. Tin can. Tin can. Tin. Can.”

 

“Deacon, that’s enough.” Nate shook his head, wondering if this is what Haylen, Rhys and Danse felt like dealing with his own attitude.

 

“He is quite right, enough. A sudden change of circumstances can be one of the most psychologically upsetting things a person can go through. Danse will need carefully handling and tender care.” Curie bristled at him.

 

“I'm sure a certain someone here wants to handle Danse's tender...”

 

“Such vulgarity.” Curie had turned a rather bright shade of red, interrupting him with that outburst.

 

It hadn't gone unnoticed that Nate had also blushed faintly and was biting the inside of his cheek to try keeping a straight face.

 

“It isn’t like that. He asked for time to think things over.” Nate was quietly reserved, not wanting to put too much hope into that particular future.

 

“I hope it goes well, you and tincan kinda deserve a break.” Deacon shrugged nonchalantly.

 

The lift stopped, the door sliding open.

 

“After you Mademoiselle.” Nate shifted back to arrogant smirk and swagger smoothly, gesturing for the medic to take the first step.

 

“Merci.” she matched his smile.

 

“Gracias.” Deacon snorted stepping out into the old bunker. “I like the decor, not many people can pull off that dilapidated military facility chic so well.”

 

“Remind me again why I brought you here?”

 

“Because I’m awesome and you need me.” He raised his hands as if to say 'what were you expecting of me, really?' before strutting ahead.

 

They quickly found Danse in that same room where barely a day ago he had sat waiting to die. Nate felt a heavy unease just being there and knew it really couldn't have been doing wonders for Danse. He was sat against the wall tinkering with a powercell, that exact same spot he had been slumped earlier with that defeated look on his face.

 

Nate hoped once they had Danse out of this place that they would never have to return.

 

He looked up from his work just as Nate exited the power armour, standing up just in time to get a chest full of Curie followed by Nate who threw his arms around both of them.

 

“I think i'll skip the lovefest if you don't mind.” Deacon just leaned against the wall, waving a hand dismissively.

 

“Oh, Monsieur Danse I was so worried about you when I heard what happened.” Curie's arms barely managed to wrap around him, and now she was sandwiched between then. She looked up at him with wide doeful eyes.

 

Nate had come to rest his head on Danses shoulder, a little too intimate for how uncertain their relationship was. The former paladin chose to let it pass without comment that time. He was showing no sign of wanting to vacate that space even to let Curie free.

 

“I'm really sorry but, do I know you?” Danse looked down at the petite girl holding onto him.

 

“My apologies, I have had a little work done since we last met. Its me Curie, Contagious Vulnerability Robotic Infirmary Engineer. I was downloaded into a synthetic body to better continue my research.” She wore the most brilliantly dazzling smile speaking of her new found humanity.

 

“I'm so sorry.” Nate wasn't sure whether Danse was apologising for not recognising her, or expressing sympathy for the fact she was a synth. “How are you finding it?”

 

“Its simply wonderful. I never knew just how deep the spectrum human senses reached, so many tastes and smells and feelings. I hope to catalogue them all, between my work of course.”

 

Danse's eyebrows moved several times, from furrowed to raised and back again as he processed this. After a moments consideration he gently smiled and pushed her and Nate back to a slightly more comfortable distance, both still firmly holding onto the hug.

 

He had liked Curie as a robot. A particularly harrowing mission had ended with Rhys on a stretcher, Haylen out of medical supplies, Danse's left arm had been wrenched out of its shoulder socket and was no longer under his control, a radstorm raging hard enough to block their attempts to call for a vertibird and nowhere to offer them respite. Knight Nathan had suggested a fairly close location, an old refilling station that bordered on Sanctuary settlement. There was a bed there, and some basic supplies in the garage, Danse suspecting this was one of the Knights safehouses he had scattered about the wasteland.

 

He had gone out into the storm, returning within a half hour with Curie floating behind. She had been a whirl of mechanical arms, clean gauze strips, quiet admonitions of their recklessness and sterile tools. Her actions had probably saved Rhys' life. She had administered a small painkiller to Danse before mechanical arms clasped around his limp arm, very quickly and efficiently popping the joint back into place, advising he not exert himself for several days after. And now here she was as flesh and blood, still just as concerned as she had been as a floating ball of steel.

 

Nate was instantly grateful that Curie was the one who had been brought along. He could spot the telltale signs of Danse lowering his guard, the vigilant stare relaxing and his stiff pose slipping just slightly. It was the same as when they were assigned to helping civilians, the kind of duty Rhys had always scoffed at. It was always Danse that listened to them, Haylen taking notes and planning how best to handle the situation.

 

Deacon had likely thought this out ahead a lot more than he had expected. He would thank him later if he wasn't being an asshole.

 

“Alright, break it up. Any more prolonged skin contact and it becomes indecent. i'll have to start filming it, charge twenty caps a holotape for copies; the smutty adventures of the popsicle, the tincan and the hover-doc.”

 

Nate let go with a sigh half contented to be back with Danse and half exasperated at Deacon. Curie let go after one final squeeze just to be sure he was okay. He was quietly relieved to have his personal space back. Power armour was exceptionally good at keeping people out of it.

 

“I brought you some stuff.” Nate lowered the duffel bag to the ground, punting it over to him with his foot.

 

“Thank you.”

 

Danse crouched down and opened it. On the very top was the bottles of Nuka Cherry and the snack cakes. He rifled through the contents idly, carefully studying Deacon out the periphery of his vision.

 

He knew about the Railroad agent and his previous association with Knight Nathan. The few times they had been in the same place he had found the man insufferable and disrespectful. The Brotherhood had a quiet order out to recover Deacon for interrogation, along with a handful of other agents. Knight Nathan was not on that list and was not aware of the order, Maxson would never admit it but he liked having access to the Railroads information network even if it was through a less than reliable source.

 

For the moment Danse chose to ignore Deacons presence.

 

He quite guiltily stuffed one of the snack cakes into his mouth whole, barely taking a moment to chew. Haylen had not packed him very much food, his last ration split between them for breakfast. He washed the cake down with a Nuka, tossing the cap to Nate.

 

Nate had already decided that when they were in safety he was going to make sure Danse ate a proper meal and got some purified water in him.

 

Danse found his power armour manual, running a hand reverently over the bound cover before putting it back.

 

“I brought this for you too.” Nate motioned to the power armour. “Its yours, doesn’t feel right for me to keep it.”

 

“Before you climb in, here, put this on. Want you to actually blend into normal society when you're not clanking about it that thing.” Deacon tossed a set of vaguely fresh clothes to Danse; tattered jeans and a black t-shirt baring a faded image of grognak the barbarian.

 

He held it up and inspected it, a look streaking lightning fast across his face. Nate could see that word in his thoughts and almost on his lips.

 

'civilian'

 

Danse undid the orange jumpsuit, unlatching buckles and harnesses with practiced ease and stepped out of it in a quick movement.

 

Nate fought a very quick battle internally, turning his back as Danse stripped down to his underwear. He turned every permutation of colour his face could muster, resisting the urge to turn and look. He had never seen him in any state of undress before, the Paladin slept in light clothing and was always awake and dressed long before he was. Propriety was incredibly important to him living a life of strict order. Important enough that Nate did not want to do anything improper that would make him uncomfortable, especially now he knew at least somewhat the kind of feelings he had.

 

The split second he had seen was burned into his mind, functional muscle and a patchwork of pale scars through dark hair now front and centre in his memory.

 

Deacon raised an eyebrow in amusement at the face he was pulling, the way he was biting down on his lip with a held breath.

 

Danse stuffed his old uniform into the duffel back and slung it over his shoulder, coughing to get Nates attention.

 

Nate took a steadying breath as he turned back. It had suddenly occurred to him that it was really warm in the bunker, perhaps the air filtration had finally died after a couple centuries without maintenance.

 

It was a strange thing to see Danse in civilian wear, Nate finding himself unable to quite make it fit with the image he had built up of him over the time they had spent together. He had become so accustomed to Danse in either his armour or the figure hugging orange jumpsuit that made life aboard the Prydwen that much more interesting.

 

“So what's the plan?” Danse wondered why Nate had such a vacant expression, watching him snap back to awareness and process the question.

 

“Railroad safehouse first. We figure it out from there.” Nate saw the look cross Danse's expression. He had never shied away from telling Nate what he thought of the Railroad and how much he disapproved of their operation even if they were fighting against the same enemy.

 

There was a pointed look he gave Nate, glancing over to Deacon momentarily.

 

'can we trust them?' was what Nate interpreted it as.

 

He nodded faintly back. Very soon Danse was going to find out just how involved he was with them.

 

The lift ride back to the surface was tense for two of the four passengers. It also creaked and groaned under the weight of four people and a set of power armour. Nate held his breath when they reached the surface; the last time he had come up here with Danse had nearly ended in tragedy. It was only when he was certain Maxson wasn't going to be there to shout him down or shoot him up did he let the tension drop from his shoulders. Danse must have noticed this because he pressed a heavy armoured hand over his back, soothingly rubbing circles as gently as he could. The gesture was nice but it was like getting a massage from a sledgehammer.

 

Stepping out into the night air he scanned the horizon for movement. Deacon lowered his glasses and checked out all the places he would be if he was wanting to spy on someone.

 

“Clear?” Nate turned to Deacon.

 

“Clear.” He motioned in the rough direction of their safehouse and they started walking.

 

“Is that really necessary. I trust Maxson to keep his word.” Danse watched the pair of Railroad agents.

 

“We certainly haven’t.” Nate snorted. He stood up bolt straight, squared his jaw and spoke in a mock version of the elders voice. His normal slouching gait became a goose-stepping march. “From this day forward you are forbidden to talk to any member of the Brotherhood, and I am pretty certain fraternising falls into that category Paladin. I am most disappointed.”

 

“That is your commanding officer you're insulting.” Danse scowled at him.

 

“From what i've heard Maxsons got a stick so far up his ass its taken root. In spring you can reach in and pick fresh mutfruit.” Deacon chimed in, sharing a grin with Nate. Danse did not look much pleased.

 

“I’ve already defied his orders repeatedly, what’s a little disrespect compared to insubordination?”

 

“You have a promising future with the Brotherhood, you can do some real good for the Commonwealth. I don't want you to compromise that for me.” Danse had that look again, like he was regretting his decision. Like he was dragging Nate down with him.

 

“I don't plan to. I promise you I’ll do what's best for the Commonwealth, not just what’s best for us few.” Nate wore a worryingly intense expression.

 

“That isn’t the Brotherhood way.”

 

“It was ten years ago, under Lyons.” Deacon spoke up. “I was there in the Capital Wastes during the war with the Enclave. They wanted to kill everyone not pureblooded human and the Brotherhood opposed that. They'd be so proud to know their tradition lives on through Maxson.”

 

“He's a good man.”

 

“He's misguided. Everyone deserves to be judged on their actions, not who or what they are.” Nate had slowed in his tracks, an intense expression coming over him. He quickly brought his attitude under control when he saw the look Danse gave him. “ _Aid them when you can, but do not lose sight of yourself_. I think the Brotherhood has lost its objectivity and what happened proves it.”

 

“You don't need to quote the Codex at me, I know it well enough.” Danse almost flinched away. His name being struck from the Codex was still a fresh wound. His exile was still a far away thing, he had more than once caught himself thinking that after the mission they were going back to the Prydwen before reality crushed that image. It caused a slight pain in his chest every time.

 

“The Brotherhood don't seem to know it at all. Your actions should have been more than enough to prove your innocence, instead the circumstances of your birth made you guilty. That is wrong no matter how you dress it up.”

 

“I was never meant to exist.” It was said quietly, as if a confession of guilt. Nate almost stumbled at this.

 

“Nobody is meant to exist. People just happen. Its what you do with your life that matters.” Nate had stopped walking and was now staring down Danse as if in challenge.

 

“Spoken like a true believer in the Railroad.” Deacon kept his face neutral but the slight tug at the corner of his mouth gave him away.

 

“I think both the Brotherhood and the Railroad are right. The Institute are in the wrong here. They created life, played with power they had no right to abuse. But that was their wrong not yours. I am glad you exist.” Nate was raising his voice now.

 

“Please, can we not fight? I want us all to get along.” Curie stepped between them. She had been quietly simmering away, waiting for them to calm themselves. When that looked like it wasn’t going to happen she was forced to step in.

 

Danse had been cut off in what he was about to say, choosing to leave it unspoken.

 

Nate muttered an apology to the medic, letting the topic drop.

 

There was a few seconds of silence before Danse decided to say somthing.

 

“There’s nobody I would rather have at my side than you, soldier. I'll follow you through this, whatever you decide.”

 

Nate had to wonder which way he was supposed to interpret that.

 

He also idly wondered if Danse would come to regret saying that.

 


	7. Deacon, no

Day 1 since the Incident at Listening Post Bravo

 

 

 

 

 

Nate had been surprised when they approached Old Church. He had read the reports and heard the rumours they were running short of safehouses that were secure but it seemed awfully drastic to bring Danse to headquarters. They had only told him they were going to a safehouse run by the Railroad.

 

Those thoughts must have been all over his face because Deacon leaned over and nudged him gently in the side to get his attention.

 

“Des will want to pump him for information, remember? The Brotherhood have been breathing down our necks and its getting concerning.”

 

Nate paused to think, looking toward the airport.

 

“I could head back to the Prydwen. I might be able to find out more from there.” Nate was dimly aware that he was expected to return to full duty immediately, his absence without good cause was not going to be looked upon fondly by the command staff.

 

“That would be just great. Just be careful. They're definitely readying for war and we don't want to get caught in the crossfire, assuming we're not the target.” Deacon looked over the top of his glasses, looking for that brief moment a lot older than he ought to.

 

“I doubt they'd come after the Railroad. Ignoring the fact you're civilians and that your operations don’t conflict directly with theirs there’s still the matter of the Institute; they can't afford to have their undivided attention so you are safe so long as you're a distraction. Coming after you guys would be a really bad decision tactically.”

 

“Common sense is in short supply, especially aboard that Hindenburg full of shiny tincans.”

 

Danse had heard that last part and shot him a stern look but chose not to say anything.

 

“There's good people in the Brotherhood. I've served with them for nearly a year, I know what they are like behind closed doors. I think if they were given the chance they could really make a positive impact. They just need to be given the chance to do so.”

 

“The Knight speaks the truth.” Danse said proudly.

 

“Paladin.” Nate corrected him with a slightly bitter snort.

 

“Paladin?”

 

“Paladin.”

 

“Congratulations. I only wish I could have been there to celebrate your promotion.” They both momentarily recalled the last celebration, both suppressing the shudder at the memory of Maxson shouting at them through the worst hangover imaginable. Nate could only recall two headaches worse, the stealthboy sickness and the damage from cryo sleep.

 

“It was an uncomfortable affair and i'm fairly certain I only got the position to close the ranks, cement my loyalty and keep up the lie that I killed you.”

 

“I'm sorry.”

 

“I wish things could go back to how they were before, when I was serving under you.” Nate was momentarily pensive.

 

“Once you two lovebirds get a night alone i'm certain you'll be serving under him plenty.” Deacon smirked.

 

Curie pulled what Nate was certain to be the most horrified expression he had ever seen her wear; jaw agape, eyes wide and hands clasped over her mouth in shock.

 

Danse blushed under the indignation, half trying to pull his head back into his armour like a turtle retreating from danger and another half narrowing his eyes in a threatening way.

 

“Deacon, No. It isn’t, i mean it is but not like that.” Nate alternated between bright red embarrassment and scowling at the Railroad spy.

 

Danse looked straight at Nate, a rather intense expression behind his eyes that made him feel very small and very warm. That conversation was still coming, and neither of them had nearly enough words ready for it.

 

Nate tried to say something, finding words harder to summon up with every second those dark eyes were focussed on him. Deacon watched this play out with a knowing look. Curie made no indication that she cared for any of it.

 

“Alright break it up you two, plenty of time for sappy gazing and bone jumping later.”

 

It didn’t go unnoticed that Nate walked the route comfortably, making none of the usual checks and precaution a new area should have warranted. Deacon was in the lead but Nate knew the way.

 

Danse carefully memorised the route through the church tunnels, approximating where they were under the surface and crossing it with every bit of information he could recall about Railraod activity in this part of the city. He could recall nothing other than unconfirmed intel that suggested Goodneighbour was giving them a free pass to operate within their walls.

 

They reached what looked like a dead end, Deacon deftly spinning a brass plaque on the wall several times pressing it as he did so.

 

He was positioned in just such a way that Danse couldn't make out what he was doing exactly, though he suspected it was some kind of locking mechanism.

 

The wall next to him slid away. Deacon strolled through casually, Danse followed immediately after with Curie at his heels. Nate stepped through last, flipping the close switch without even looking. Danse could see It was a well practised gesture, that he had done it many times before.

 

The room ahead was dark.

 

A female voice ordered them to halt, Danse reaching for his sidearm instinctively and choosing not to draw it when nobody else even moved. Nobody was showing any sign that this was anything but ordinary.

 

“Have you seen the twin lamps?”

 

“They light the way to freedom.” Both Nate and Deacon said the passcode at the same time, indicating they were not being coerced in any way.

 

“Jinx, make a wish.” Deacon said to Nate as the lights came on.

 

Desdemona was stood above them, pistol pointed right at the Paladin. Glory was at her side with a large weapon spooling up gently, ready to turn Danse into scrap parts at the slightest hint of an order. They both wore grim expressions, Glory's had the faintest hint creeping into her features of that first moment of adrenaline and heart pounding that preceded the danger.

 

“Apologies, can't be too careful. Especially inviting in a matching set of Paladins.” She waved Glory down. “M7-97, most only pass through our doors once. Welcome to Railroad HQ.”

 

Danse's brow furrowed, offence rising in his features at the mention of his designation.

 

“My name is Paladin Danse. Not M7-97.” He stood up tall, defiant. Nate couldn’t help the warm feeling in his chest seeing his Paladin showing his strength again.

 

“I'm Desdemona, I run this little operation. We'll handle proper introductions another time. We have an armour frame in the main room, I strongly suggest you use it.” she turned and left, expecting them to follow momentarily.

 

Danse knew instantly who she was, he had being briefed and informed that she was a target of priority if the opportunity arose. They had scarce little information about her, all of it at least a few years out of date and of dubious reliability. Desdemona in return knew exactly how much info they possessed and had gone to some extreme lengths to spread a trail of disinformation.

 

“Don't worry tincan, Des doesn’t bite. Much.” Deacon patted him heavily on the shoulder, his hand making a heavy thud against the armour. Danse barely felt the vibration through the plating.

 

He shook his hand, palm not a brilliant red likely having hurt himself. Curie simply shook her head at him, making a mental note to check it over at a later time, turning to address the still silent Danse.

 

“She has been nothing but convivial with me, i'm certain this will all be fine.” She followed after Deacon, giving the remaining two a moment of privacy.

 

Danse nearly responded with 'thats because you're a synth' before the truth came back to him with a spark of pain.

 

Nate at least had the decency to look sheepish.

 

“I knew you had a previous association with the Railroad but I had no idea you had contact with their leadership.” Danse looked down on Nate. “And neither does Maxson.”

 

He was silent, still likely formulating his answer.

 

“The Brotherhood was willing to overlook the occasional matter of you aiding other groups were our goals lined up, but you're a full agent trusted enough to bring others in aren’t you? How could you keep this from your brothers and sister? From me?”

 

“Would you have understood?” Nate met his look with defiance, refusing to flinch away from it.

 

“I suppose not. You've always had your own ideas of right and wrong.” Danse took a moment to decide whether to say what he was thinking aloud. “I'm choosing to trust you with this.”

 

“The Railroad have helped me more than I can repay, and I honestly believe them when they say they have everyone’s best interests at heart, human and synth. The Brotherhood are needed to secure the future, but its the Railroad that'll make sure everyone gets a chance to enjoy it.”

 

“Its a shame you didn’t join the Brotherhood years ago, you would have done well under Elder Lyons, both of them.”

 

“There’s hope that the Brotherhood might go back to being about helping people, securing the future through cooperation and trust rather than down the sights of a gun.” Nate seemed sincere in his belief. Danse was unsure whether he was being dangerously naive or dangerously optimistic. “If you ever find a time machine I give you full permission to go defrost me early and sign me up for the old Brotherhood.”

 

“You've only ever seen the Brotherhood at war. Maybe when there is peace again you'll see what good we can do. I suspect that might be a long time coming though.” Danse felt a heaviness in his heart. He longed to go back to when everything was certain and the only thing he had to worry about was armour maintenance and the rookie with an unprofessional attitude determined to bribe him with cake and Nuka Cherry. He wanted to wake back up aboard the Prydwen to the familiar hum of the engines idling and morning announcements.

 

“I hope for all of us that you're right.”

 

“I think its time we spoke about what happened.”

 

In that moment they both felt like a gulf had opened between them.

 

“Before you say anything I want you to know no matter what happens i'll help you get out of the Commonwealth if that's what you want.” Nate said it in a single breath, the word rehearsed and planned far ahead. Danse could see the avoided eye contact and the clench of his jaw.

 

“I don't know where my place is anymore or what it is I’m meant to do. Until I know for certain i'll trust you and trust your judgement.”

 

“I trust everyone here. I stared down Maxson for you, i'm not about to throw you into a deathclaw nest now after all that.”

 

“I have something I need to say about the other matter at hand.” He drew a breath, swallowed and continued. “I'm a synth. You deserve a real flesh and blood human. I can't in good conscience give you what you want. It wouldn't be right.”

 

Nate seemed to battle with a thought for a moment before coming to a decision.

 

“Shouldn't it be my choice if a want to be romantically involved with a synth or not?”

 

“I won't let you taint yourself by association.”

 

“I've already been physically involved with a synth.” Nate dropped that as quickly as he could and just watched the conflict play across Danse's face. Surprise, then anger, then concern, and finally the face he knew as the disappointed commanding officer.

 

“When? How? Who?” He was uncertain what the right question was to ask.

 

“A few months ago. I'll draw you a diagram for the how if you'd like. And a close friend. We only found out they were a synth after we had gotten involved. It was kinda my fault. Sometimes the mind wipe doesn’t take properly, that’s what happened with him. One day he just collapsed half way through hammering a broken wall panel and doc's couldn’t find anything wrong. Tried something on a hunch and it cracked whatever the Railroad did.”

 

“So you were romantically involved with another synth?” Danse had a raised eyebrow.

 

“Romantically? No.” Nate blushed an interesting colour. “We were just friends. I liked him, he liked me, we had a lot of spare time to waste and figured we could do worse then spend it in bed together.”

 

There was darkening of the Paladins eyes at this. He didn’t know how to quite feel, there was a conflict between him being angry that his Knight had been literally sleeping with the enemy and something that might have been jealousy.

 

“And you never had feelings for him?”

 

“Friendship, physical attraction. If I’m honest he was my type physically. Tall, broad chest, massive arms, dark hair. Looks like a bruiser but has a heart of gold.” The knowing smile and obvious implications gave Danse a moment of pause.

 

“I see.” It was now Danses time for turning an interesting colour. His mind had already filled in the gaps and was presenting a rather interesting mental image. “You've given me a lot to think about.”

 

He couldn’t be certain if he was saying too little or too much.

 

Nate took a slow step forward and gripped the handles on the front of Danse's armour, making it clear what he intended to do. A faint nod of permission followed. He hoisted himself up and planted a chaste kiss on Danse's lips. It lasted only a moment but Danse felt a warmth pass through his whole body and a deeper chill a moment later as they parted.

 

“I understand. I promise i'll be back soon.” The frown faded away into a well practiced smirk. “Try not to pick any fights though Tincan. Especially not with Glory, she'll knock the teeth from your head without a moments regret.”

 

“I wish you wouldn’t call me that.”

 

“I know.”

 

Moments later Danse was alone. His lips still tingled warmly, his chest heavy and head light. He sighed before steeling his nerve and walking into what was most certainly not a deathclaw nest.

 

He took a quick glance around the room, noting the various alcoves and defensible positions each with an agent standing in. They were trying very hard to look casual and not like they would turn and fire on him at the slightest provocation. A sensible precaution.

 

Desdemona was sat across a wide stone table from him, a single chair waiting. He disengaged from his armour and did a cursory fatigue check on it whilst a room full of armed agents watched him for the slightest suspicious action.  
  
He moved at an even pace to the table, arms kept firmly at his side to show he was not carrying anything.  
  
Desdemona kept her face impassive as he took the space left for him. Glory was at her side, her weapon resting on the table idly but still pointed toward him.

 

A pitcher of water was placed before him with a glass by a slim man in a blue jacket and a news cap.

 

“Comfortable?” The Railroad leader sat with her hands clasped on the table before her looking very much like the spy master the Brotherhoods intel on her made her out to be.

 

“I am adequate.” Danse spoke evenly.

 

“I thought perhaps you might want something to eat, or perhaps something other than water to drink.” A bottle of Nuka Cherry and a plate with three snack cakes was placed before him. The knowing smile she wore made Danse the slightest bit nervous. “I have some questions I would like you to answer.”

 

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

 

The interrogation had been considerably less unpleasant than he had expected. Desdemona had a lot of questions on a fairly wide array of topics. Danse informed them that he would not divulge Brotherhood secrets, carefully guarding his answers to seemingly innocuous question lest he reveal something he shouldn’t.   
  
He had expected frustration or irritation at his staunch refusal to reveal anything other than non-vital information. Instead he got quiet acceptance and that made him a little less at ease.

 

He had in return managed to learn that Knight Nathan had actually kept a lot of the Brotherhoods secrets. A lot of her questions pertained to things he was privy to, and some were based on rumour and myth that the Knight could have dispelled easily if he chose to. Whether the ignorance was true or a well woven deception he could not be certain.  
  
The topic had looped around to Nate several times and dipped often into his personal and professional behaviour. Danse was more than happy to tell them about how unprofessional, sarcastic and immature he could be despite being one of the most capable soldiers he had ever commanded, how ruthless and efficient he was the moment they were in a combat situation. Deacon nodded approving when he told them about 'ride of the valkyries' muttering about how much that was exactly what he had come to expect.

 

From what he was told that was not exclusive to the Brotherhood. That same desire to resist orders and ignore the rules was a thorn in Desdemonas side kept in check only by Deacon who was just as capable of causing trouble.

 

Another plate of snack cakes was brought to him, Glory eyeing them eagerly from her position but making no move to take one.

 

Desdemona had informed him about the 'genetic predisposition to the taste' present in all gen-3 synths. There was an additive of some sort that interacted very strangely in the slightly different synth biology, forcing a rush of neurochemicals usually associated with pleasure, obsession or addiction. They had found it to be a fairly reliable way to determine if someone was a synth or not. That fact had been brought back from the Institute, which they proudly informed him they had infiltrated several times.

 

Danse was not made aware that it had been Nate that had brought this information back with him from the Institute. That little bit of intelligence from the infiltration mission had been absent from the report he had given the Brotherhood.

 

With the topic now on the Institute she had wanted to know if Nate had told them exactly what had happened in there. All she knew is that he had found his missing son, and was no longer intending to bring him back.

 

Danse had hoped she knew more; he'd told the Brotherhood nothing about it beyond tactically vital information. Whatever had happened caused him to abandon his post for a significant time, returning later to be debriefed. Bringing it up was a certain way to make him get up and disappear for days at a time and was widely considered to be off limits to discuss.

 

The other side of the story was explained to him. Nate had stormed into HQ the same day he had abandoned his post, gave them the information they needed and vanished. They had spared a few field agents to track him down, aware of Gladius team doing the same.

 

He shared how they had failed to find him, scouring the Commonwealth and returning without him. There was a look shared between Desdemnona and Deacon at this, the promise of something they intended to discuss privately at a later time.

 

Desdemona ordered a stand down from everyone, announcing they were done.

 

In an instant the tension in the room evaporated. Glory took her gun away, Deacon drew up a chair at the main table after standing against the wall a distance away, and Desdemona drew a cigarette with a box of matches.

  
“So am I free to go?” Danse watched the flicker of calculation cross Desdemona before she settled on an answer.

 

“If you wish to I don't think I could stop you. You are unlikely to give up anything you have learned today to our enemies, the Institute would wipe you and the Brotherhood would kill you first. I will say that if you do choose to leave I suspect Agent Nathan will be incredibly disappointed. I don't think he could survive losing anyone else.” The words were carefully chosen, Danse taking the ambiguous nature of her statement as an invitation to ask farther.  
  
“Anyone else?”  
  
“A discussion for another time perhaps. It feels dishonest to talk about Nathan or his feelings without him present.” Desdemona waved dismissively. Curiosity had its hooks into Danse exactly as she had intended, and that was enough to guarantee he would stay until Charmer returned.

 

“His feelings? I'm aware he has a romantic interest in me.”  
  
“A little more than that, but as I said that is to be discussed with him present.” She watched Danse shift uncomfortably in his seat, a frown of deep thought settling in his brow.

 

“I have a question.” Danse seemed uncertain if he was supposed to be asking or not.  
  
“Ask away.”  
  
“How dedicated is Knight... Agent Nathan to the Railroad cause?”  
  
Desdemona thought for a moment how best to respond.  
  
“How dedicated is he to the Brotherhood?” Her response was even toned with a hint of a smile behind it.  
  
“That isn’t an answer.”  
  
“He believes we have the Commonwealths best interests at heart but objects to some of our methods and ideals. He would risk his life to better the lives of others.” She watched as Danse accepted this answer, knowing full well it was the same for the Brotherhood. “What about you?”

 

“I don't know where I stand.” Danse looked down to the last two snack cake on his plate. Guiltily he stuffed one into his mouth hoping it would make him feel better about the whole situation. Across the room the expression Glory wore got a little darker.  
  
“Do you want to help people?”   
  
“I do.”  
  
“Even if those people are like you?”  
  
“I don't know.” Danse sighed, turning away from the conversation. It was not pursued any farther.  
  


“I have a question in return. Have you noticed anything unusual in Nathan’s moods as of late?”  
  
“Nothing obvious, other than when he used that modified stealthboy device.”   
  
Desdemona was caught slightly off guard for a moment before her lips pursed in anger and she swung toward Deacon who had thrown himself from his seat quickly, intending to flee very fast and very far.

 

A single barked order to 'sit' had him freeze in place and comply. It seemed Desdemona was under the impression they had stopped working on it and were not intending to use them. She had specifically ordered them buried for the time being.

 

Danse was glad to see that Nate's insubordination was everyone’s problem, not just his and the Brotherhoods. He idly wondered what he was like with the Minutemen, intel suggested he had been their public figurehead for a time before stepping down to attend his Brotherhood duties. He had directed settling efforts, the Brotherhood offered respite at the places he had settled but not made to feel welcome for long periods.

 

Whilst Desdemona was giving Deacon a dressing down, to which he seemed to be paying an absolute zero attention, Danse picked at the last snack cake.

 

It was strange to see this from the outside; he could very much relate to Desdemona's problem, and could see why Nate and Deacon got along so well. He could very well see the same situation with him aboard the Prydwen saying the same things to Knight Nathan.

 

He hadn't even realised he'd been sitting with a far away amused smile on his face until both the Railroad operatives stopped arguing and looked right at him.

 

“Its weird to see you actually happy. Good I suppose, but weird. You're usually all frowns and frothing patriotism.” Deacon took the opportunity to slip away and see what Tom was doing, much to his leaders annoyance.

 

Danse carefully put his usual facial expression back in place, the front of an implacable soldier of the Brotherhood.

 

“At ease.” Desdemona spoke sharply, commandingly. Danse actually unstiffened for a moment, well drilled training overriding sense. “You're going to be here a while, I suggest you get comfortable. We've got beds and food, you welcome to anything you need. Welcome to the family I suppose.”

 

She left him sitting there at the main table with his thoughts.   
  
He still couldn't see a way out of this, at least not one Nate would be happy with. He was unwilling to make a permanent choice until his options were properly weighed.

 

At first he had thought they were going to the Railroad to get him out of the Commonwealth, possibly even to have his memory reset if that was necessary. Danse didn’t like the idea of having them inside his head making changes, but a small part of him almost entertained the idea of just being able to forget everything and start again.

 

Danse disliked needing their help. The Railroad had been the enemy barely a day before, now he was sitting in their stronghold.

 

Now that he knew Nate was entangled with them it made the situation that much more complex, making his decision that much more difficult.

 

Nate clearly wanted him to stay, either because he was fiercely loyal to him or because he had let his good judgement become clouded by an emotional attachment. That brief kiss flared to life in his thoughts, making him realise just how hard the decision was going to be.

 

He couldn’t be certain if he felt obligated to him for saving his life or if he was trying to convince himself it was just obligation. That kiss was still being very forward in his thoughts, and was now being ignored very hard.

 

He owed Nate an answer and that required time.

 

Nate wouldn’t leave the Commonwealth, that much he was certain. This place had been his home and even if he was willing to leave Danse didn’t want to force that on him. His stubborn need to put the world right again bound him to the place and gave him purpose. It wasn’t fair to have him drop all of that just to follow a lost synth. He knew all too freshly what a loss of purpose felt like, and he didn’t want to inflict that on anyone.

 

With a heavy heart he made a smaller decision. He stood, walking over to his power armour resting neatly in its frame.

 

He ran his hand over the chest plate, swallowing hard as he did so. He picked up the buffing tool, the kind used to strip paint. He closed his eyes for a moment as if in prayer before pulling the trigger, the engine whirring to life. With a single hard swipe from right to left the winged sword and gears was gone, just pristine steel remained. It felt like the last of his identity had been erased.

 

“First steps always the hardest.” Deacon had his glasses lowered. He patted him on the shoulder with his other hand, the first one still sore from the last attempt. “It gets better, I promise. You did it once already, second time'll be a breeze.”

 

He just watched his reflection in the shiny metal. He'd been through this all before even if he couldn't remember.

 

The memory wipe was looking better and better. He had to admit it wasn’t the worst of ideas. He had risen from nothing, and was nothing again. A do-over might be the best thing he could get. The only thing stopping him was that he would be forgetting Gladius. Not getting to see Haylen and Rhys again hurt, knowing he would be forgetting them felt like a betrayal. He would be forgetting Nathan too, and that stung him harder than he was prepared for. That kiss was now starting to eat at his thoughts. He put his head into his hands and drew a ragged breath.

 

He closed his eyes and hoped when he opened them it would be to the ceiling of his quarters in the Prydwen, morning announcements ringing loud and clear from command. He opened his eyes and his new reality without structure and order deeply disappointed him.

 


	8. A Drop Compared to an Ocean

Day 2 since the Incident at Listening Post Bravo.

 

 

 

Dawn had already been and gone when he arrived, the air bitterly cold even in the pale morning light. He had taken the long route to get there approaching straight from the north. He couldn't risk being seen coming from Old Church or even its general direction.

 

The various lookouts should have spotted him and his approach, and would have marked it down in their records. He didn't envy the night sentries, hiding in leaking buildings and watching the horizon while frost and dew formed on what little protection they had.

 

Morning exercises were just beginning, the makeshift barracks and tents scattered haphazardly about the airport thrown open as Knights and Knight Aspirants poured out to the commanding bark of Knight sergeants, all under the watchful gaze of the Knight Commander. Nate did not envy them either.

 

The Lancers were sitting smug around a lit barrel of dried wood and scrap paper, drinking the recaf swill that tried and dismally failed to pass for coffee. Their duties were not for another half hour.

 

Their was something very wrong. The morning drills were too quiet, too muted. Their should have been laughter and loud complaints only half meant, a feeling of family and brotherhood. All he could see was the conspiratorial chattering in hushed tones and the searching looks he got passing through. It made him feel very exposed.

 

He wondered if perhaps they'd found out about just how involved with the Railroad he was, or worse just how involved with the very much not dead Danse he was.

 

The tension was palpable in the air.

 

Two Knights in full armour knocked into each other, both rushing to whatever tasks they had been assigned. Usually there would just be an 'apologies brother' from both. Instead they squared up and looked like they were about to start throwing punches.

 

Nate had to rush between them and step into the role of Paladin Nathan, pulling rank and authority to stop them from swinging punches. He wasn't in power armour, if they did come to blows he would very much be crushed between them.

 

“Blackstripes.” One of them sneered through his helmet, walking away. “Traitors.”

 

“Would you care to explain what the hell that was about?” Nate put on the closest voice he could to the one Danse used when barking commands. It seemed to work.

 

“Sorry Paladin. The Redstripes have been trying to pick fights all day.” The Knight bowed his head, not meeting Nate's burning stare.

 

“Assume I’ve been off the Prydwen for a few days, explain this to me from the beginning. Blackstripes, Redstripes?”

 

“My apologies sir, its easy to forget you've not been with us long enough to pick up our traditions. When someone loved or respected dies you paint your armour with a black stripe to mark your respect. They're wearing red stripes to mark the death of a traitor, its supposed to mean constant vigilance.” He pointed to the fresh black stripe of paint on his left shoulder pad.

 

“Is this about Paladin Danse?” Nate couldn't actually believe what he was hearing.

 

“There’s a difference of opinion on how to treat his death. He was the best of us no matter what anybody might say he was.” The Knight almost raised there voice, pausing when they caught themselves getting emotional. “Sorry sir, tempers have been running a bit high recently.”

 

“Its quite alright. We've all suffered a great loss, I promise it'll be better in time.”

 

“Thank you sir.”

 

“One question, is Scribe Haylen about?”

 

There was a moment as he tried to recall which scribe she was. Their had been a considerable influx of new recruits as of late.

 

“No sir. I think she's been assigned to Cambridge for a few days.” Relief washed over him. He wasn’t ready to have that confrontation just yet.

 

“That's all, thank you. And try not to get into any more fights.”

 

There was a salute and a distinct lack of a promise or assurance not to do so.

 

Nate had to smile at that, Danse had called him out on that more than a handful of times. With that Nate headed off to grab his power armour. He intended to go find Proctor Quinlan later, see if he could get himself assigned a task that would keep him away from the Prydwen for at least a few days.

 

He needed to keep up appearances at least in the short term, and this little discovery gave him a considerable amount to think about. It seemed Danse had more support even now than he had expected. He just needed to find a way to levy that support into something concrete and usable without Maxson putting a bullet in his favourite tincan and throwing them both overboard.

 

Making his way through the ship he kept a running tally of markings. The crew seemed quite evenly divided.

 

His armour was still in the dock. There was a note taped to the chest in what he recognised as Ingrams sharply angled handwriting. It was a list of concerns she had about his armour, and what maintenance he needed to do. He skimmed over it, turning it over to read the other side. He snorted and pocketed it.

 

On a the table in the centre of the room was two pots of paint, red and black. They were too obvious, too prominent. They had been left out deliberately, inviting everyone to take sides. A part of him wondered if this was a test, he wouldn't put it past Maxson to find a way to make the most fanatically loyal and those with sympathies mark themselves clearly.

 

He took the brush left out, applying a heavy amount of black paint and dragged a clear line down his left shoulder plate. He waited for it to dry in the nearby mess hall, drinking a bottle of purified water and watching the people come and go. Breakfast in the camp below had already started, aboard the ship it was still being prepared for.

 

It was a struggle to keep his eyes open at this point, feeling the strong temptation to down a bottle of Quantum and ride the caffeine wave through the day.

 

By the time it was dry enough to be worn he could feel the edges of his sight growing faint and that dull bone deep ache of exhaustion threatening to take him. He powered it up, climbed in and somehow made it to Danse's quarters. They were his now, even if he didn’t want them.

 

He hadn't realised just how badly he'd wrecked the place. It seemed someone had at least cleaned up the spilled Nuka Cherry and broken glass. He was about to settle into the bed, armour against the wall when he noticed it.

 

In the corner of the room was a small framed picture of Danse in his power armour, a black stripe painted over his shoulder. It was surrounded by offerings of snack cakes and Nuka, little scraps of paper left around it. He moved over to it groggily, settling cross legged in front of it and read a handful of them.

 

'it was an honour serving with you.'

 

'we're all going to miss you.'

 

'Ad Victoriam, brother. Rest well.'

 

'Why did it have to be you?'

 

'Goodbye, until we meet again.'

 

Nate felt a knot form in his chest. A cold feeling crept over him reading them, like he was intruding on something private he had no right to be a part of. Here were mourners saying their final farewells to someone he was lying to them about being dead.

 

He carefully put the notes back, scrambling away from them.

 

With a head full of doubts he returned to the bare bed, curling up on it. It still smelled faintly familiar.

 

If someone told him a week ago that he would be sleeping in Danse's quarters, in Danse's bed, he would have been elated. With a bitter laugh he realised he got what he was wanting, thought not quite how he wanted it. It was hollow victory without Danse there to keep him warm.

 

That seemed to be a running theme in his life as of late. He wanted to find his lost son and he did, and he hated him so much. He wanted to be with Danse and instead he gets an exile who had to watch their life crumble around them. He tried to throw himself into his role as a good Brotherhood Knight and he ended up playing executioner to the person he had grown most attached to. About the only thing not corrupted by his presence was the Railroad, and he wondered just how badly that would end up.

 

The Prydwen and the Airport had felt like home for so long, and now it was just lonely and confining.

 

When he got back to Railroad HQ he was going to make certain that Danse had somewhere comfortable to sleep, maybe even next to him if he was agreeable to it. He needed to have that to look forward to at least.

 

Sleep took him without much protest.

 

It was only hours later when he startled awake did he even realise he had fallen asleep at all. The engines had surged briefly, groaning and straining before it was corrected and compensated for.

 

They had been assured it was nothing to worry about. Overheard conversations in command said otherwise.

 

The ship was not meant to run for nearly a year in idle, it was vastly overdue for maintenance but with an enemy always vigilant and always so near it was too much of a risk. Landed and powered down the Prydwen was too vulnerable, the anti-relay shielding keeping the Institute out was tied directly to the ships reactor. Every few weeks there would be a lightning crack of teleportation followed by that distinct high pitch screaming as a pile of mangled shrapnel and crushed plastic materialised. He dreaded to think what would happen to any organic matter that tried to relay in.

 

His body protested; shoulders locked uncomfortably into place, neck stiff from sleeping at such an awkward position without a pillow of some sort. He swung himself upright, joints clicking alarmingly. His head was heavy, brain full of fog and thoughts barely able to claw their way to the surface half formed. He groaned, shuffling over to Danse's memorial and swiping a bottle on Nuka from it.

 

He popped the cap off, downing it in a single long draught. He shuddered, its wasn’t his preferred flavour but it would do. Cherry was a very harsh taste without something to counter it.

 

His whole body was wracked with a harsh shudder, starting at the base of his spine and racing up into his skull and back down again. That was the ridiculous amount of caffeine hitting his bloodstream.

 

He still felt like living death but that was soon to fade. He was not a morning person, disregarding the fact it was late afternoon now.

 

Once back in his armour he felt better, servos and motors taking most of the effort out of walking.

 

He resumed the count from earlier. By the time he had done a complete round of the ship and then reached Quinlans room it was still a near even split. It was also plain to see that the situation was dangerously volatile, the two sides could be seen antagonising each other. Maxson would not abide by such disorder unless he was using it for some greater purpose, this situation was engineered to test loyalties.

 

Nate crossed paths with Brandis who gave him a brief nod, a faint but friendly smile on his lips at his presence. The older Paladin had been one of the few people Nate had interacted with outside his team for any significant amount of time. They had a strange kind of friendship, quietly lending each other books and trading experience. Brandis was fascinated by the old world, its culture particularly. Nate in return was told about the unwritten history of the Brotherhood, the things too petty or insignificant for the Codex.

 

Ingram was a close second, they spent a lot of time discussing and cataloguing pre-war finds and recording their various other uses. A lot of his old technical knowledge fell into a grey area within the rules, the field improvisation he had picked up fighting in the Canadian insurrections two centuries ago frowned upon by the careful regulations of the Codex. It almost fell under 'abuse of purpose' and was heretical to Brotherhood doctrines, the only saving grace was the fact his knowledge was first hand and thus technically from the original source itself. It wasn’t certain whether he was above reproach or in dire need of a court marshal.

 

Brandis and Ingram had between them picked him clean of old world knowledge and culture, enough to fill several heavy leatherbound tomes that had been shipped off to the Citadel for study. He had hoped their curiosity was genuine and not simply an order to be followed when it was discovered that cryo sleep had compromised his memory. Cade had been surprised that it was the only damage done, the pods he had been frozen in were designed to keep a person alive for a few decades at a stretch. At a year since waking up it was starting to feel unreal, like he had dreamt of the old world and everything he had lived before.

 

Brandis was with a fairly significant sized team heading out on what he assumed where training exercises. He bore none of the striped markings of the Brotherhoods feud, but all his subordinates had thick red ones. They looked at Knight Nathan like he had marched in wearing an 'I love the Institute' t-shirt with matching flag. They were clearly wondering why Danse's executioner was on that side of the fight.

 

He almost didn’t stop to talk to them, they had the purposeful look that signalled they were in the mindset of field operations. Once you put your mind into that alert and ready state it was jarring to have to let that guard down again so soon. There was a saying amongst the older Paladins; that every Brotherhood soldier had two faces, one for war and one for peace. It was only when you couldn’t stop wearing your war face even in comfort and safety that you had a problem. He understood what it could do to someone never being able to let go of it, he had seen it a few too many times.

 

“Pre-flight prep. go.” Brandis almost growled it to his team who immediately saluted and left the two Paladins alone to talk. “You've got about three minutes. Talk.”

 

“About what happened...” Nate tried to find the words and could only find one word. “...Danse.”

 

“You want me to tell you what you did was right. Sorry kid.” There wasn't malice in his words but there certainly wasn’t kindness either.

 

“Figured you'd say that.”

 

“Strip away the orders. Strip away your duty and what’s left? You killed a good man. Can't say I’m happy about it.” There was almost pity in his expression.

 

“I had orders. I couldn’t go against Elder Maxson.” Nate was putting up a careful front with downcast eyes and slouched stance projecting guilt.

 

“I know. I have a mission to get to. I hope I cross paths with you out there once you're back in your right mind.” The older Paladin patted him on the shoulder as he stepped by him.

 

“Thanks. I appreciate it.” Nate let out an audible sigh, counted to five after the footsteps faded away and let the slight smile cross his face. Danse still had a little loyalty even now amongst the Brotherhood.

 

There was the beginnings of a plan forming in his mind, he just needed time to figure out the details.

 

With a deep breath he returned to the task at hand.

 

He took off his helmet as he entered Quinlan's room, holding it under his arm. Quinlan was as busy as usual and brushed him off as a nuisance. When pressed he gave him a minor task to investigate a rumoured piece of old world technology they needed to possess. It was on the farthest side of Boston, dangerously close to the Glowing Sea. Exactly what he wanted, far enough away to give him a reasonable excuse not to return for a long time.

 

“Proctor Quinlan.” Nate froze on the spot, that voice bolting him firmly in place. He had hoped to avoid the Elder entirely. “I need to speak with you privately. Come up to the command deck as soon as possible.”

 

“Of course sir. I'm ready now if its opportune.”

 

“Paladin.” Nate turned, feigning his usual assured smirk. Maxson's eyes darted to the black stripe disapprovingly, but he made no other indication or acknowledgement of it. “Its good to see you taking your duties so seriously. We are going to be moving forward with our plans very soon, sweeping our enemies from the board so to speak. I look forward to your undivided cooperation.”

 

Something about what he said sat uncomfortably on his shoulders.

 

Quinlan grabbed a handful of manilla folders and followed Maxson immediately out.

 

Nate counted to ten slowly, letting the breath he had held out slowly. He swallowed hard, giving frayed nerves a moments to return to normal.

 

His appetite hit him hard once the adrenaline faded. He needed to head to the mess hall before heading out, artificial flavourings and radioactive isotopes were only good for so much nourishment before real food was needed.

 

Just as he was about to leave an opportunity presented itself with a little green blinking light.

 

Nate noticed the computer in the corner flashing at him. It was still logged in with Quinlan's administrator password.

 

His heart sped up. As quietly as he could he rifled through the boxes looking for a blank holodisk. He found two, inserting the first one into the drive slot. He didn’t have time to be selective, he just grabbed the entire 'intel and proposed operations' folder and copied it over. It was luckily just under the size of the disk.

 

The document that had been left open was an annotated diagram of the internal working of a stealthboy. That explained the strips of emitter coiling and field generators scattered about the desk. He copied the stealthboy files over to the other disk, sweeping the dismantled parts into his helmet as it transferred.

 

He was already dabbling in espionage, theft was a drop compared to an ocean at this point. He logged off before fleeing, Quinlan would return assuming he had done it himself as he was supposed to have. The man was stickler for protocol.

 

Heart in his throat he walked his way calmly through the ship. It felt like all eyes were on him. He had to keep his face neutral and be calm. Nobody suspected a thing. He really hoped nobody suspected a thing.

 

When he reached the vertibird dock he found a pilot waiting. He asked to be dropped near Goodneighbour, intending to cross the remainder of the way on foot. The Lancer did not seem happy to be flying him into that part of the city.

 

In truth he was going to circle around for a while then make his way back to Old Church as soon as he could. Something in Maxson's words had made him feel very unsafe.

 

Hunger was now starting to bite at him. He regretted not going to the mess hall, but getting possibly valuable information to the Railroad was considerably more important. The ride was short with the westbound wind at their back, Nate dropping onto the rooftop that had been secured as a dropoff site. The small handful of Knights at the small outpost didn't even acknowledge his presence.

 

He also needed to be certain that Desdemona hadn't put any dents in his precious tincan with her interrogations. He dismissed the thought; Glory was the one likely to do him harm, especially if Danse couldn’t bite his tongue and keep his negative opinions about synths quiet.

 

The walk back was tense, every shadow a potential spy for Maxson. He made a mental note to get his paranoia under control. Perhaps Cade had been right and the stress was starting to get to him. He wondered idly if psychiatry had become a lost art in the last few centuries, he might have to convince Curie to take on a few students if it were true. The idea of Curie asking him about cigars and his relationship with his mother made him almost chuckle.

 

It was a little while later when the full ramifications of his actions hit him.

 

He had just committed treason against the Brotherhood of Steel.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to the people that commented and left Kudos, every one of them makes me smile.


	9. Ad Libertas

Day  3 since the Incident at Listening Post Bravo.

 

 

 

Danse rolled over on the mattress, awake instantly. With a held breath and careful stillness he listened for what it was that had woken him. He moved upright and into a low crouch, surveying the room whilst reaching for his sidearm holster.

 

The sleeping space he had been given was off to the side of the main table, in a corner next to some shelves. 'Charmer' was scrawled into the wall above it in chalk.

 

It was apparently Deacon snoring on the next space over that had woken him. He was sprawled out on his back, still wearing his sunglasses even now.

 

Danse put the gun back in its holster, letting a short sigh free from his nose. He didn’t like sleeping in unfamiliar places, he rested especially light without his team around as assurance.

 

He had finally looked inside the bag Nate had packed for him. It was just about everything he owned from the Prydwen, including the pillow and blankets from his bed. He was grateful for the familiarity.

 

It was still early for civilians, probably only a little past 0600. He got up quietly, climbing over Deacon without disturbing him. The urge to 'accidentally' kick him was there, only his sense of professionalism kept him from doing so. He had never been a petty man; always priding himself on rising above personal conflict to serve the greater good, but something about Deacon inspired him to sink down to his level.

 

To his surprise Desdemona was awake, sitting at the table with a cup of something warm and reading over some field reports.

 

“Morning.” She said without looking up. “Can I offer you anything?”

 

Danse hadn’t meant to have been be sneaking about, but almost startled when she acknowledged him despite being outside of her arc of sight. He realised it was to be expected, she was the commanding officer of a cadre of spies, infiltrators and saboteurs, she was used to dealing with people who were invisible as a profession.

 

“Is that coffee?” He asked, showing no outward sign of that split second of his heart and stomach dropping.

 

“Afraid not, don't get it too often around here. Green tea.” She tapped the glass teapot sitting in the middle of the table with her pencil. “Help yourself. There’s a clean cup around here somewhere.”

 

“I had thought this city had a historical dislike for tea?” Danse recalled the information from a briefing long ago.

 

“Five hundred years ago. Time tends to soften opinions somewhat.” She said sagely, taking a sip.

 

“Is there anything I can do around here to help?” Danse found himself a cup and poured a half measure of the amber brown liquid. It smelled flowery, a hint of bitterness underneath. He brought it up to his lip but didn't sip, putting it back down again.

 

“Right now nothing I’m afraid. Once Glory wakes you can help her maintain our weapons if you like.” Desdemona put down one report and opened another, comparing something between them.

 

He felt no numbness, swelling or tingling in his lip so the tea had passed the most basic of poison tests. He chose to drink it. Taking a heavy gulp it turned out that it was strong and bitter far more than the smell indicated. His face contorted in disgust.

 

“Its an acquired taste. Sip it slowly.”

 

“Is there nothing out in the field I can do? I'm a soldier, my place is on the battlefield.” Danse took her advice and sipped it lightly. It was at least palatable like that.

 

“I'll certainly take that into consideration. Right now there really is nothing, we're playing the waiting game. Get your equipment field ready just in case though, things get set in motion pretty quickly round here and it would be nice to have another operative who can fight.”

 

“Operative? You're putting a lot of trust in me.”

 

“I'm not trusting you, I'm trusting Nathan. His faith in you is plenty good enough for now.” The slight turn of her brows caught his attention, he couldn't be sure but it seemed to be irritation at something. He didn’t know her well enough to pick up on her emotional cues.

 

Desdemona would never voice it aloud but she found the situation she had been put in uncomfortable. Danse was a massive security risk, as much of a risk as Nathan had been when Deacon had first lured him in. It made sense that the one Deacon had taken under his wing would turn out to be the biggest pain in the ass. She let the thought comfort her, Nate had been a gamble that turned out massively in their favour. Perhaps Danse would prove the same.

 

The part that worried her the most was Deacon had most certainly not been blinded by love sickness and naive optimism when he had assessed Nate and his potential to join the Railroad. Nathans judgement when it came to Danse was clouded by other feelings unresolved.

 

They sipped tea in comfortable silence, Danse finding a copy of Publick Occurances to read.

 

The main article was titled 'hidden strife aboard the Prydwen: is there mutiny amongst the Brotherhood of Steel?'

 

Danse read it carefully before dismissing the whole thing as sloppy journalism, sensationalism and deliberately misinterpreted facts. A Brotherhood 'inside source' had confirmed that they had split into two camps ready and willing to attack each other at a moments notice over idealogical differences. There had already been small skirmishes.

 

Danse dismissed it all as untrue.

 

It was the evening edition, having gone to print probably around sunset. Danse had been gone barely three nights and he knew the Brotherhood was too strong to turn on itself in such a short space of time.

 

He wondered if perhaps it was propaganda to try and make them look weak and undermine their integrity. He would have to investigate this 'Piper Wright' and find out if she was an Institute plant. He would have been horrified to know that this information had been brought to her by courier with a small personal request to make it sound more outrageous. That package had just been signed 'Blue' in a barely legible scrawl.

 

The next few hours were uneventful. Danse handled long periods of idleness almost as badly as Nate did. Paperwork he could handle, training was a joy and a necessity, doing nothing and not being needed sat uncomfortably on him and got heavierwith each moment he had to endure it.

 

He ended up helping them take inventory, properly organising their ammo stores as he did so. They had partially depleted power cells stored right next to plasma grenades and rocket propelled ammunition. If the cells even brushed against each other they could potentially spark, setting of a reaction in either of their neighbours that would cook off their entire supply. It was sloppy and dangerous, and he made certain they knew that.

 

Desdemona deferred to his wisdom. With purpose and focus he started sorting explosives into properly lined ammunition tins, the cells stored in an improvised frame neatly arranged so their connecting parts could not touch.

 

It was only when he was done did he realise that Deacon was watching him. He couldn't work out why but Deacon had that look on his face like he knew something nobody else did.

 

It was approaching midday when something worthy of attention finally happened. Desdemona had given the few field agents around various tasks, mostly scouting new safehouse locations and running for supplies.

 

They were grateful to escape. Danse had actually started doing proper rifle drills with them showing them the correct form, posture and trigger discipline that their training was lacking.

 

For the shortest time he could almost have imagined these green as grass civilians were new Initiates training under him, and it felt like everything was right again.

 

Their was a warning buzzer followed by the scrapping of the stone panel sliding back. Desdemona and Deacon had their guns out instantly, Glory racing ahead of them. Danse grabbed a rifle from a shelf, following after them.

 

Deacon signalled for them to stop, the entry rooms lights were off. Danse moved up next to Desdemona, ready to put himself between the highest ranking commanding officer and any potential threat if needed.

 

“Do we share the same mother?” Desdemona spoke, pointing her pistol at the silhouette of the figure.

 

“Yes, and she wants you to have this.” Was the response after a gulping breath. She lowered her weapon, signalling to hit the light switch. The agent looked ragged, face red as if they had been running.

 

“Drummer Boy. What happened?”

 

There was two scorched marks in his jacket, easily recognisiable energy weapon burns. Danse could see they were too narrow; high energy, low heat output. Institute weaponry.

 

“Coursers. They attacked the safehouse.”

 

“Coursers, as in multiple?”

 

“Two of them, and a group of gen-twos. One went in to flush us out, the other was waiting for us to run.”

 

“Deacon. I want you there an hour ago. Drummer go get medical attention, we have Curie here.”

 

“I'm going.” Danse spoke up.

 

They all looked at him and then to Desdemona as if waiting for a decision.

 

“Fine. Take what you need from our supplies. And be careful, if your identity has been compromised then they could have your recall codes. If they open their mouths make sure to fill it with lead.”

 

“Will do Ma'am.” Danse saluted.

 

“What are you waiting for?” She rubbed her temples in exasperation, he was a consummate soldier to the last breath. “Dismissed.”

 

Danse checked his armour over, it seemed to be combat ready. He didn’t have the time to do the full pre-combat checks, he would have to trust the internal diagnostics to run enroute.

 

He turned to the stores, grabbing a handful of ammo magazines, a few stimpaks and some medical wrappings, stuffing them into the belt bound pouches he had been given. He had suspected they had belonged to Nate at some point, one of them was full of Quantum caps.

 

Deacon did the same but much faster, scrambling about somewhere behind him for something then heading out the door ahead of him.

 

As he was about to climb into his armour he noted the freshly painted lamp marking on his chest. He paused briefly to look at it, unsure how to feel. The paint was very wet, and he strongly suspected Deacon had done it moments ago whilst his back was turned. He could have smeared it away easily if he wanted to. He chose to leave it.

 

He climbed in, feeling instantly more comfortable than he had for days. The engine purred to life, its faint tremble pushing all the way to his centre and washing away all of the doubt with clarity and the familiar protection of steel.

 

He needed to find out what the Railroads battlecry was, Ad Victoriam wasn't going to work for him anymore. He would need to find out the old latin way to say 'to freedom'.

 

 

 

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

 

 

 

Nate entered HQ at a brisk sprint, yelling out “They light the way to freedom” before anyone was close enough to ask for a passcode, hitting the close switch as he did so. He had gotten very fast at turning the time consuming lock, so much so that there was talks of changing the system to a safer one. If he hadn’t sent a short message over the radio announcing his arrival he would momentarily be looking down the dangerous end of Glorys gun.

 

Desdemona turned the corner, switching the light on as she did so.

 

There was a wild grin on Nates face, proud and smug.

 

He held his helmet out, shaking it once to emphasise that he had brought something back for them.

 

“Just what have you brought me?” Desdemona stepped down to greet him, arching an eyebrow at his childish excitement.

 

“A copy of the Brotherhoods current intel and proposed operations.” His eyes darted to the passage to the main room, wondering why only Desemona had come to greet him. “Is Danse okay?”

 

“I think you'd best see for yourself. He got back barely a few minutes ago.” Desdemona had a cigarette dangling between her fingers, striking a match.

 

“Back?” There was a rising panic quickly quashed by Desdemona rolling her eyes and shaking her head at how easily he had jumped to the wrong conclusion.

 

“I sent him out with Deacon on a mission. It went surprisingly well all things considered.” She motioned for them to move deeper inside.

 

The main room was alive with laughter. Nate noted that familiar smell of burnt metal and something harder to describe. He had always likened it to burnt meat, chlorinated floor cleaner and crushed flowers all at the same time. It was what the armour dock of the Prydwen was like after a mission, the scent of energy weapon discharge and damaged power armour.

 

Their was also the distinct biting sterility of the disinfectants Curie preferred using was under it all. He hated that sterile smell, the air in the Institute was heavy with it and it wasn’t something he liked even thinking about.

 

“So this courser tried to threaten us, got right up in our face and Danse here just up and knocked him onto his ass. I think you broke his jaw.”

 

Deacon was sat at the main table retelling the story, agents all listening intently. His shirt was rolled off his shoulder, Curie applying a cotton swab daubed in sterile alcohol to it. He had what looked like a mild energy weapon burn.

 

Danse was at the power armour frame doing maintenance, but it was clear to see he was in a better mood. A smile was tugging at his lips, eyes warm and filled with pride and purpose.

 

“Everything went to hell, so many blue lasers. He...” Deacon gestured to where Danse was standing. “...just stood there, shielding me long enough to pop the pin on a grenade and roll it out between his legs.”

 

Deacon took a swig from a bottle of Nuka Cola before continuing.

 

“The other one was waiting for us when we left, he was invisible and taking shots at us from behind a car. The tincan here charges in through fire, vaults over cover and tackles him to the ground. In full power armour. I think you shattered every bone from the knees up. What does the Codex call doing that?”

 

Danse rolled his eyes.

 

“Either reckless abandonment of a strategically defensible position or an improvised strategic manoeuvre depending if it works or not.”

 

“Looks like you two had fun.” Nate strolled up to the main table, releasing himself from his armour. He swiped Deacons bottle of Nuka from his hands and downed it himself. He hoped the caffeine would help with that sharp headache that had irritated him all moring. Deacon made a theatrical show of offence at the action, hand raised to chest and mouth agape in shock.

 

Danse put down his tools neatly, cleaning the armour grease off his hands with a cloth.

 

Nate found himself spun around on the spot. A strong hand came to rest on his shoulder as Danse stood very close, lips parted as he tried to say what it was he had been rehearsing in his head. He smelled strongly of power armour grease and exertion. For the briefest moment Nate froze, he thought Danse was going to kiss him.

 

“Get a room you two.” Deacon hooted at them.

 

Danse flinched back as if burned. Nate shot the spy a brief look that promised pain and death, jaw clenched and eyes narrowed.

 

“I think I can do this.” It was spoken so quietly. Danse looked so strangely lost. He let Nate pull him into a hug, the spiky bristles along his jaw rubbing against his Knights cheek. “Thank you for giving me a chance Soldier.”

 

“As adorable as the two of you are, its reminding me about my crippling loneliness. Stop. Please. Its getting uncomfortable.”

 

They separated reluctantly. Nate had the slightest smile that seemed almost sad. Danse was a spectacular shade of red from his nose to his ear tips. He was not used even the slightest of close contact especially not with an audience.

 

A brief silence reigned as they both felt uncomfortable. Nate shrugged his whole body and put his usual arrogant grin back in place. Danse stiffened back into his impassive and unapproachable officer persona.

 

Danse pointed to Nates armour, it had been standing at the planning table like it was a guest to the conversation.

 

“Who died?” he ran his hand over the black paint lightly, not wanting to chip it. It was up to Nate to remove it bit by bit.

 

“The whole ship is in mourning, one of their best Paladins was struck down in their prime.” The look he gave the former paladin was very intense.

 

“Who?” Danse's brow was furrowed.

 

“He really is as dense as his armour isn’t he?” Deacon quipped over the table. “Huh, dense Danse.”

 

“So why don't we have a look at what you brought back.” Desdemona motioned to the helmet that had been abandoned on the table, swiftly drawing attention away.

 

Nate tipped it out, sliding the holodisk across to her with a quick movement. He separated all the coils and emitter parts pointedly ignoring both Danse and Desdemonas disapproving look. He unstrapped the stealthboy from around his hip, unbuckling the body armour. He rolled up his sleeves, unhooking the two metal strips and then doing the same with the ones around his ankles.

 

It was mess of soldered wires and coils. At a glance Danse could guess the basic principle of it, focus the field down so it covered only the body rather than just establishing a wide bubble. Stealthboys only lasted a short time because they had to create such a wide bubble with only a set of fairly fragile coils. They simply burnt themselves out. More coils to take the load and narrowing the operational area would make it more effective if less convenient to wear.

 

Deacon laid it out for dismantling and study. Nate had asked him if it was possible to produce a handful of them relatively quickly, they were intended as part of some contingency plan he had plotted out in his head and he was itching to know exactly what it was.

 

“I really don't approve of you using that device, it compromises your ability to operate efficiently.” Danse grumbled, looking at Nate with concern.

 

“I second what he said.” Desdemona spoke as she gave Deacon a rather sharp look, knowing full well he was the one who had started all of this and nudging them to pursue it.

 

“We simply do not have the proper medical equipment to assess how much harm they are doing to you.” Curie was sat on a stool, legs curled up to her chest. “I strongly advise you desist at once.”

 

“I appreciate the concern from all of you but i'm more than capable of making this decision for myself. The potential benefits outweigh the risks. If you want to help find a way to minimise the side effects.” Nate actually seemed annoyed at all of them lecturing him.

 

“I've been meaning to study it for myself, do you mind.” Danse motioned to where Deacon had laid it out.

 

“Didn’t have you marked as the scientific type.” Deacon raised an eyebrow at him.

 

“Maintenance, repair and field improvisation are all part of basic training. I read a lot in my off duty hours, it does well to be prepared.” Danse picked up a screwdriver and deftly opened the Stealboys casing, looking inside it with a frown. “The soldering work is amateur, and this whole section seems to be disconnected.”

 

Nate leaned over to see what he was pointing at.

 

“That’s the safeties, it checks for irregular field intensity and shuts it down. Couldn’t get it to run with it still working.” He explained why it was removed.

 

“Safeties are there for a reason.”

 

“Pretty certain we voided the warranty already.” Deacon unfurled a set a schematics, hastily annotated with two different sets of barely legible scrawl that seemed to be arguing with each other. Nate passed him the other holotape with the Brotherhoods more accurate schematics on it.

 

Desdemona decided to leave them to it when Tinker Tom downed half a strip of mentats and went over to assist. She took the intel holodisk and went to read its contents.

 

Now that she thought about it she realised just how carefully Nate had handled it. He had told her ahead about the content of the disk, and hadn’t brought it up at the table whilst steering the conversation another way and getting everyone’s attention long enough for her to read through it in relative peace.

 

He obviously didn't want Danse knowing what he had done, at least not yet. That worried her somewhat, she knew just how hard it was to break loyalty forged so strongly. Nate had to do a lot of mental gymnastics to justify his idealistic need to help everyone against the selfish doctrines of the Brotherhood of Steel.

 

The former Paladin clearly still loved the Brotherhood, even now after everything that had happened she couldn’t be certain which side he would fall on if it came to war. She really hoped it wouldn’t come to war, it would tear Nate apart if it did and it would certainly kill him if Danse wasn't on his side.

 

She sighed, this was a situation that was best resolved later. For the immediate future she had stolen Brotherhood documents to look through.

 

 


	10. The Road to Hell...

Day  19 since the Incident at Listening Post Bravo.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“...and that was how my first mission for the Railroad went.”

 

Haylen had not touched her drink. It had started to grow warm in her hands as she listened to her former commanding officer explain that he was now a member of the Railroad. There was a pair of expecting looks pointed toward her, waiting for a response.

 

She had yet to say a word, finding her thoughts a mess of conflicting ideas all scrambling for attention. Danse was alive, a synth, a Railroad heavy, and romantically entangled with Knight Nathan. Whatever she thought to say could not encompass all of it adequately.

 

There was also the fact he had taken down two coursers with only a civilian assisting him. A month ago that would have gotten a medal pinned to his chest. Whole squads had been lost to just one. She had met Deacon, and her impression of him matched what Danse had previously felt about him. She couldn't help but feel a tinge of pride that her mentor had done that almost unaided.

 

She took a light breath, sighed, and smiled at Danse. It was subtle at first but she could see the way he shifted, his pose a little less stiff. Like a floodgate opening relief washed over him, his expression unguarded and relief undisguised. She could for the slightest moment see what Nate was drawn too, warmth and relief almost radiating off him.

 

With a deep breath he sat up tall again, once again in full command of his emotions with exception to the slightest tug of a smile at the edge of his lips.

 

It was also unspoken but certainly not forgotten that they were on opposing sides of the war.

 

Nate had been careful to edit his account of events. There had been no mention of sensitive locations, absolutely nothing about stealing Brotherhood supplies and secrets, or that Danse had been given back his old armour.

 

Most importantly the Chameleon armour prototype was left out. That needed to remain a secret for at least a little while longer. He knew she would not miss the coincidence.

 

They had also missed out everything else that had happened since that night. There had been losses, things had gotten out of hand and preparations had been made.

 

Danse knew he couldn’t tell Haylen the whole truth for her own good. He had never once shielded Gladius team from reality; there were times when they were facing almost certain death and he had told them that with honesty. He prided himself on that. The lie by omission almost physically hurt, his pride stinging and roaring in his chest. The casual dishonesty of spy work had still not found its comfortable place in him.

 

Nate found it a little easier from practice. He had kept secrets for considerably longer. Compartmentalisation had been drilled into him by Desdemona, security through selective secrecy. It had almost kept the Brotherhood from seeing their actions, only their most overt movements had been noticed and studied. Nate and Desdemona almost had everything in place, running interference and sending out false leads to mask the real plan.

 

Haylen had been told as much as they could tell her without putting her in danger. Danse was dimly aware that this was true for himself. He had been put somewhere else in the plan and given only what he needed to know so that his relationship with Nate could not colour either of their decisions. Danse was part of part Three, Nate was handling One and the opening notes of Two.

 

Danse was contented to drink his Nuka Cherry and enjoy the evening with most of his team back together. He would have liked to have Rhys with them too but his loyalties were less flexible than Haylens.

 

Haylen noticed that his knuckles were bruised, one of them split as if from a fight. Otherwise he looked to be in good health. He was quite happy to have Nate leaned against him slightly, and to her eyes they were perfectly comfortable with each other. This was a distant thing from the Danse she remembered that wove duty and propriety into a barrier between himself and the world, reinforced by powered armour.

 

“This is a lot for me to take in.” She took a sip of water. “I'm just glad you're okay after all of it.”

 

“I hope you understand that you cannot tell anyone that I’m alive. We can't risk Maxson sending anyone else to kill me.”

 

“I'm certain you can handle yourself perfectly well.”

 

“Its not about competency. I don’t want to hurt any more of my brothers and sisters.” Danse's expression was heavy, regretful. Haylen wanted to ask what that had meant but chose not to. It was easier not to know. “I also don't want to risk the lives of any of you. My name may have been struck from the Codex but you are still all my team and my responsibility.”

 

“I promise to keep this all a secret.”

 

“Thank you. I don’t mean to be rude but I have to go. This was only supposed to be a short stop.”

 

“Des got you doing field work again?” Nate raised an eyebrow.

 

“Deacon actually. He needs some specific parts for something and I’m the only one around here who can do a half decent identification. We're following up some leads tonight.”

 

Haylen realised with the mention of the name who the man in the glasses had been earlier. They had more than met; she had extracted a bullet from his leg and he had gone on insult Rhys repeatedly. She had thought it odd that he knew exactly what to say to get a rise of anger from the short tempered Knight.

 

“I won't keep you from your duties. Be safe.” Nate pressed a kiss to his jaw, a prickle of stubble tickling his lip. Danse bowed down a few inches and planted a single, brief kiss to Nates lips before parting.

 

“I will Soldier. Will you be back at HQ tonight?” Danse raised his hood and put his sunglasses back on.

 

“Dunno, i'll try.” Nate had a slightly dazed look, a stupidly wide grin on his face and a warm glow to his cheeks that reached all the way to his ears.

 

Danse left in a hurry.

 

Deacon had been waiting outside for him growing ever more impatient. If Goodneighbour hadn’t been occupied by a significant contingent of allies and familiar faces he would have gone mad with boredom. Sturges and a handful of Atom Cats were doing a good job keeping him company, various Minutemen and Railroad agents passing through and dropping intel on Brotherhood movements along with other hostile factions.

 

He was probably not very happy having to wait nearly an hour for what was supposed to be a short break. He probably had something sarcastic and witty to say that would just earn him Danse's ire.

 

Nate watched the stairway up to the door for a moment, a far away expression on his face. Haylen thought at first it was the look of a lovesick puppy, but as she watched she could see the slight change. His expression grew distant, regret or dread darkening it until he shook it all off and plastered on that faint smirk he wore like a shield.

 

“I need to say two things. First its about damned time, you two suit each other well.” Haylen shook her head, when she had taken Nate aside those few weeks ago and almost ordered him to confess his feelings this was not the end point she had imagined.

 

“And what’s the second thing?”

 

“That you've gotten better at lying. To me and to him. What are you planning?” Haylens jaw clenched, eyes narrowed at him.

 

That feeling of being very small whenever either of them told him off came flooding back, completely washing away the fact he was now her superior officer.

 

“I'm planning a lot of things.” He said dismissively. He opened his mouth as if to say something more, paused and then changed his mind. “I'm going to need you to do something very important for me in the future, you'll know what it is when the time comes.”

 

“This is very cryptic and I don't like it.” She took a moment to think. “I might come to regret this, but i'll do it on one condition.”

 

“Name it.”

 

“I need your word that you have only the best of intentions for the Brotherhood.”

 

“The Brotherhood will come out of this strong, you have my word.” Haylen could see it wasn’t a lie, but the slight shift of his features told her that he had deliberately left out something important. A smile tugged at the edge of his lips, the slightest glint of that terrifying fire in his eyes.

 

“Something I can't make fit in all of this. The Railroad sent somebody codenamed Death Bunny to kill you.” Haylen had heard information trickle down from Command that suggested they had intercepted messages ordering all agents to apprehend him on sight. She had to wonder if the Railroad knew that their communication frequencies were being monitored and were feeding them bad intel.

 

“Its complicated. Once this had blown over I’ll make everything clear.” Nate shrugged at it all. The mention of 'Death Bunny' had made him crack a smile.

 

“No.”

 

“No?”

 

“All or nothing. You either tell me the truth or I go.” Haylen squared up to Nate who was certain she could knock him cold to the floor if she really wanted to.

 

“The Railroad wanted to assassinate Maxson and his entire command staff. The plan would have caused a lot of collateral deaths. I made it clear that wasn’t an option. There was another way we hadn’t really considered. Do you know your litanies?” Nate looked for the moment all too serious.

 

“Not by heart. Rhys would.”

 

“The rite of succession?” Nate watched as Haylen smiled, recognising it instantly.

 

“Danse gave you that idea didn’t he?” Her knowing smile grew wider.

 

“He said he'd considered it?” His brows knitted together in confusion in a way that reminded her all too much of Danse.

 

“Because I was the one who suggested it to him in the first place when I helped him escape. He refused.” Haylen saw the gears and cogs moving in his head, a sudden realisation sweeping over him.

 

“Circumstances changed. The lockdown. The civilian casualties. Things are bad on the ground and getting worse.”

 

“And its our fault. I'll help you.” The scribe couldn't help but feel a surge of pride that her suggestion had lead to Danse and Nathan taking action to fix the problem. “What do you need me to do?”

 

“Not much, just stir up the Blackstripes. I'll find you when its time.”

 

Nate checked his pipboy to avoid meeting her sharp look at his evasive answer, frowning at the device. He didn’t like it when Haylen scrutinised him, it made him feel very vulnerable.

 

“Something wrong?”

 

“I have something really important I’ve been putting off doing, and it really needs to be done tonight. We're sadly almost out of time, the pilot should be back pretty soon and I don’t know if he'll wait for you.”

 

“I can make it back to the landing site on my own. I was hoping you'd come back to the Prydwen for a while, your presence has been sorely missed.” Haylen pulled him into a hug. Nate stood bolt upright, body stiffening before he relaxed and hugged her back. She was not the type for physical contact even amongst friends. “You go do what you need to and come back to us soon. Good luck.”

 

“I'll be back very soon, I promise, but not tonight. And I promise once I’m back I’ll stick around this time.” Nate knew that a lie. Once everything was done and the dust had settled he had a few very particular words that needed saying before he had to leave.

 

Nate and Haylen left The Third Rail in opposite directions.

 

Haylen could see in those parting moment a sense of apprehension about him. Whatever he was going to do had him uneasy.

 

He quickly found a small alleyway out of sight. A quick survey of his surrounding proved he was alone and unobserved. Goodneighbour was very short on quiet places in recent days.

 

There was a strong feeling of indecision as he opened a pouch strapped to his belt and removed a small tin. It had been lined with lead as a paranoid precaution. Inside it was an earpiece made of shiny, white plastic and the slightest scent of sterile medicine. He just stared blankly at it for several seconds, uncertain in his resolve. He had already justified this to himself too many times. He knew what he was doing was for the greater good, even if it was a betrayal.

 

He had already made up his mind and set his course, refusing to let himself be dissuaded. He tapped his pipboy, tuning it to the proper frequency and then inserted the earpiece. He pressed down the button on it, took a steadying gulp of air and said:

 

“One to relay back to the Institute.”

 

With an angry flash of blue light he was gone.

 

 

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

 

 

Haylen rode back to the Prydwen alone.

 

It was strange that the Paladin had insisted he be left behind, something in his attitude was very wrong in those final few moments and something about it had caught her attention and refused to be ignored. He had only let the concern show once Danse was gone, from an outside perspective it seemed he was juggling his lies and it was starting to wear him down.

 

She couldn’t say she was pleased to learn that his loyalties were split as much as they were, that was certainly going to come back to bite them eventually. She really hoped that when the time came he knew which side he was on.

 

The Prydwen was abuzz with news when she returned. She could recognise the conspiratorial chatter, Initiates rushing back and forth with a cargo of rumours and hearsay. There was a noticable edge to it all, tension that she had thought was finally fading as sharp as the first day after Danses execution.

 

The Redstripes were on edge particularly. She had to wonder just how long it would be before both sides moved on. With a bitter realisation she thought how both sides of the argument were wrong for different reasons.

 

It was only when she got made her way to the mess hall did she find out what had happened.

 

There was Paladin Brandis, declared missing in action after not returning from whatever covert operation Maxson had sent him and his new team on. His left eye was blackened and his lip split but otherwise he seemed to be well. He was talking with Knight Rhys, hunched forward as if trying to keep it between just the two of them.

 

She sat with them and asked what had happened. Brandis seemed to appraise her presence for a moment.

 

“You're Haylen right, part of Gladius Team working under Paladin Nathan?”

 

“I am.” She nodded as she took her usual seat. She had only encountered the older Paladin in passing, the times they had spoken to each other measurable on one hand. Nate spent quite a lot of downtime in his company, showing his usual lack of tact by calling a superior officer such un-endearing titles as 'gramps' and during the deepest part of winter 'santa' had been thrown around a few times. Danse occasionally joined them, giving Nates insubordination a little too much freedom.

 

She knew that Nathan and Danse had rescued him and brought him back to the Brotherhood after his team had been killed. He had made no secret that he owed them a debt.

 

“Good, been meaning to speak with you. I've just been debriefed. Maxson sent us to destroy the Railroad. Didn’t tell anybody ahead, didn’t even make a record of it just in case. Couldn’t risk them finding out somehow.” There was something about him different, noticeable even with their limited encounters. There was a easiness to how he carried himself and a lightness to his eyes.

 

“I would assume the mission was completed successfully?” Haylen tried to align this with what she had heard only an hour before.

 

“Partially. We were out in the field for three days before we managed to track one of them back to their headquarters. We thought it was going to be easy. Turned out to be an ambush. We'd been careless and they lead us right into a trap. I was captured, they even tried to interrogate me.” He motioned to the split lip. “Something happened, not sure what exactly but they had to evacuate in a hurry. Something about the Institute coming their way. They left me behind, I got free from my bindings and made my way back here.”

 

“Its good to see you're alive.” Haylen's mind started to race. If he had seen or overheard anything about Nate or Danse then they were both in serious trouble. Maxson was not one to take betrayal of that magnitude lightly. It occurred to her she had been seen in his presence, incriminating her too.

 

“I needed to ask you both something so I’m glad you're here, already got Rhys' opinion on it. Do you really think Danse is dead?” Brandis lowered his voice.

 

“Do you have reason to think otherwise?” Haylen gave what she hoped was a perfect performance of being nonchalant about the whole thing. She really hoped that it wasn't too much, it was no secret she had defended Danse's honour, his memory.

 

“Nothing concrete. There's a lot of doubt going around, and a lot more wishful thinking. Quite a few people think Maxson made the wrong decision ordering his execution.” He seemed troubled by it. “People don't want him to be dead and are looking for anything that says otherwise.”

 

“I saw Knight Nathan return from that mission, the way he acted afterwards leaves no room for doubt. He followed his orders to the letter even if he didn't want to.” Haylen had just lied to her brothers in steel and it was certainly not a good feeling. Now that she thought about it Nate had managed to fool her that night, his long absence to look after Danse was easily mistaken for a need to be alone with his grief. His anger had probably been at least partially genuine. Nate had never managed to lie to her before, she was very good at reading his expressions.

 

“Couldn't have been easy for him, especially when feelings like that are involved.” Brandis shrugged. “He was not the most subtle about making it known he had affections for his c.o.”

 

“Paladin Nathan will always put duty before feelings when the time comes.”

 

“How certain are you of that are you? Maxson certainly wasn’t. He followed them in a vertibird just to be certain it was done properly, and they returned separately. Something doesn’t add up there. The guards were dismissed from command when the Knight showed up for debriefing, that’s what he does when he's going to be yelling.”

 

Rhys shook his head doubtfully.

 

“You don't give a dressing down and then a promotion though. I don't think we should be talking about this, we should trust our Elder to guide us.” He chipped in with a frown, silently listening up until that point.

 

“I think there's a hell of a lot less trust in him these days than there used to be. I think there will come a time when we have to show our loyalty.” Brandis spoke with a tone of finality before standing up and leaving the mess hall.

 

It wasn’t immediately noticeable against the dark grey but there was a small line of black paint on the left shoulder strap of his jumpsuit. He hadn’t picked a side previously, something that had happened during or immediately after his captivity had changed his mind.

 

Some paranoid instinct told her this was all too convenient, his words echoing what Nate had said too closely.

 

Brandis was either involved in whatever conspiracy Nate was running behind the scenes or he had learnt something during his captivity and was keeping it close to his chest until Maxson gave the final order. Nate had either been discovered or he was still fully in control, and she couldn’t confront Brandis on it without tipping him off to her own loyalties.

 

“Relax Haylen.” Knight Rhys gave her a concerned look. “He's just had his faith shaken by a bad experience. Happens to the best of us. You just need to remember who your loyalties are with and it'll all be fine.”

 

“Thanks.” Haylen appreciated the advice, though she was quite sure he would not approve of the conclusion she had drawn from it. She knew who her loyalties were with, and she wasn’t going to let her team down when they needed her most.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is referencing the old saying 'The road to Hell is paved with good intentions.' Interpret that as you wish.  
> This is the end of what a think of as act one. Next chapter is an intermission of sorts and then back to day 3, picking up where the story being told to Haylen cut off.  
> I suspect some of you may be wondering about a few things that happened or were mentioned. I like my little mysteries.  
> Also thank you to everyone who left a kudos, a comment, bookmarked, or just read this far in general. There is something weirdly satisfying about watching the little numbers on the dashboard go up.


	11. Intermission: A Respite Between Missions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a break chapter, a quick slice of the past between the first and second part of the story. Its three smaller events being remembered during a quiet morning aboard the Prydwen.

Five months prior to the incident at Listening Post Bravo

 

 

 

 

Danse watched as Knight Nathan slipped into the mess hall and took his seat next to Rhys at their usual table.

 

He was at least wearing his Brotherhood field uniform this time, his old gasmask tied at his hip amongst the pouches and his leather jacket bearing that leering cat marking hooked into the strapping across his backpack. He had been formally requested to wear the uniform on several occasions, each time his excuse being that he had been out in the Commonwealth attending to tasks unrelated to the Brotherhood and didn’t want to misrepresent them by wearing it.

 

It was only when he started spending more of his time aboard the Prydwen and going on missions with his team did he start looking the part. Maxson had taken an interest in the team and earmarked them for certain operations, checking in on them personally and making certain Nate knew what was expected of him.

 

Danse completely attributed the sudden compliance with dress code to Maxson instilling some discipline.

 

The truth would have made him considerably less happy. He had off handedly complemented Nathan about how well he presented himself in uniform. He had meant it as a mark of his professionalism shining through. Nate had taken it a different way. This had stuck with him.

 

Even Rhys could see that the smitten fool was only doing it to impress his commanding officer. Haylen had witnessed the original event, watching Nate go from cool and confident to wordless and gawking, Danse quietly oblivious to it all. Both of them were finding their patience wearing thin with the situation.

 

Nate slid into his chair, swinging his body toward Rhys as he did so and smirked warmly. He opening his arms in mocking suggestion of a hug. Rhys simply batting his extended arms away and chose to make a show of ignoring his presence from then onwards.

 

The Paladin had never managed to make them agree with each other. Nate enjoyed antagonising Rhys, and Rhys was too petty to not to rise to the challenge. They brought out the worst in each other quite spectacularly. If it wasn’t for the fact they were so efficient and cooperative in the field their team would likely be split up.

 

Danse and Haylen both sighed, returning to their reading. Haylen had an equipment requisition log open before her, making marks over what they needed from the latest resupply.

 

She was debating whether to include Knight Nathan's request for a stockpile of grenades and the parts to make an electrified baton. She had seen what he could do with a melee weapon, she still had the image burnt into her mind of their last mission together.

 

It had been intended to be a simple sweep, targeting a small raider group based in an old factory that was reportedly hoarding fusion cores. When they arrived they quickly found out it was an ambush, the Raiders having designs on their power armour and equipment, the rumour a lure to capture them.

 

It ground down into a stalemate, the Brotherhood team penned in and outnumbered as enemy reinforcements kept arriving faster than they could pick them off in the precious moments where it was safe to look out from cover.

 

Nate had grown increasingly irate with the situation, fishing about in his backpack for something. Before Danse could question it the Knight had a landmine in his hands, a bubbling laugh erupting from his throat. He armed it, rolling out over the rubble they had taken refuge behind and threw it like a very deadly discus. His aim was just right, it hit the ground at speed and clattered through an open doorway and right into the middle of where the Raiders leader was holed up. A moment later most of the leaders men were a fine red mist and a wet paste across the walls.

 

A second explosion caught the already disoriented raiders off guard as a gas cannister exploded, sending them into a panic. Rhys and Danse took the sudden opportunity and stood up tall, taking aim and scything down the Raiders on the upper walkways. Haylen charged after Nathan a moment later, the last thing she saw of him before he vanished into the smoke and dust tossed up by the blast was him throwing himself into a tackle and bawling a raider over, catching another with his elbow to their throat on the way past.

 

Haylen cleared the smoke just as he sprung to his feet, snatching the nail ridden bat the raider had dropped. With a single fluid arc he put the Raider leaders jaw and upper palette through the top of his skull, pirouetting on the spot and striking the still stunned second in command hard enough that the nails in the bat became stuck in the door frame via the back of his neck, pinning him upright and struggling for only a few seconds before going limp.

 

He turned to Haylen, her blood chilling at that grin plastered across his face.

 

Danse charged in, stopping when he saw the threat had been dealt with. He stepped around the raider, pulling the bat free and taking some of the wall with it. He tossed it away, nudging the raider with his toe just to be certain they were dead.

 

His boot was slick with blood now.

 

He had taken a moment to breath in, letting his anger simmer a moment.

 

“What the hell do you call that?” Danse had yelled at him, taking his tone of command.

 

“An improvised strategic manoeuvre, sir.” He had said it smoothly with the grin never faltering, putting an impetuous inflection in the way he said 'sir'.

 

“I call that reckless abandonment of a strategically defensible position. We will bring this up properly once we are back aboard the Prydwen.” Danse had not brought it back up. Instead they dragged the Knight to Cade and made him sit through a full evaluation.

 

Nobody wanted to talk to him about his recklessness, there was no way to bring it up without talking about the failed infiltration of the Institute.

 

Haylen looked up from her work, momentarily lost in her memory of the mission. It was strange to see Knight Nathan leaning back casually in his seat, looking so different than the jackal she had caught a glimpse of in the bowels of that old factory. He was sipping Nuka Quantum through a bendy straw, making as loud a noise as possible just to see the twitch that flickered across the corner of Rhys' eye and lip.

 

She steeled her resolve and added his request for parts and the grenades. It was foolish to allow personal discomfort get in the way of a valuable strategic asset.

 

Rhys breathed loudly, refusing to look at Knight Nathan and give him the satisfaction of knowing he had gotten under his skin.

 

Danse was either oblivious to it, or choosing to be oblivious to it. He had an old power armour maintenance manual out and was reading it slowly and methodically. It was battered and well used, partially rebound in leather a few years ago to preserve it. It was his own personal copy that had been passed down and across the ranks for many years. It had a long list of owners on the first page, the last few being Cross, Krieg, Cutler, then Danse. He hadn’t decided who it should go to next; Haylen was a Medic Scribe not an Armoursmith Scribe so she had no need for it, Knight Rhys rarely used power armour and showed little aptitude for it and Knight Nathan had worked with and worn the armour when it was still new two centuries ago, his knowledge first hand even with the gaps in his memory and the awful practices he had picked up. He was going to have to find someone outside his team to hand it down to.

 

Nate drew his attention with a forced cough, looking at Danse then down at the space in front of him. A bottle of Nuka Cherry was sat right before him, placed there whilst he was distracted. He took it without a word, popping the cap and flipping it over to Nate who slipped it into a pouch on his belt with a smile. He sat sipping at it in peace, a silence comfortable for Danse and Haylen, and tense for Rhys and Nate descending.

 

They had assembled for lunch a little earlier than usual, a mission had been scheduled for them with briefing at 1300.

 

Nate was typically restless, his attention recently had become shockingly short and peace never resting well on his shoulders. He preferred noise and activity, the quiet gave him far too much time to think and lead to his mood turning dour.

 

The mess was empty of all but Gladius and the cook starting first preparations.

 

He swung his legs back and forth, finding little to console him. He opened the tape slot of his Pipboy, searching his many pouches for a holotape. He found it with a wry smile, slotting it in. The device started playing a repetitive tune, punctuated with high pitched beeps as Nate played whatever game he had found.

 

Rhys looked straight at Danse, unblinkingly and unflinching with the promise of murder. Danse just faintly shook his head in warning, he could see Rhys reaching the end of his patience.

 

If he had to break up another fight between them he was going to go get his power armour and drag them both before Maxson. Rhys nose hadn't set right after the last fight, and Nate had a faint scar diagonally on his lower lip.

 

They had been sent down below deck to pick up set of new energy weapons with an experimental modification they were field testing. Danse's power armour had been fitted with a helmet camera and a sensor pod to make a proper recording for assessment, The Paladin silently furious that the changes were being made without him being present.

 

Something started Rhys and Nate arguing and exchanging barbs.

 

Danse simply tuned out their bickering, not interfering even when it raised to an outright shouting match between them. Haylen just ticked off the items as Danse collected them, checking the modified parts were properly fitted.

 

It was only when he heard a crash and saw the pair rolling about on the floor trying very hard to rearrange each others facial features did he step in.

 

He had quite angrily pick up Knight Rhys by the back of his uniform and thrown him as far as he could, Rhys landing awkwardly at a disappointed Haylens feet.

 

With a growl Danse had dragged Knight Nathan to their feet by the front of their uniform and slammed him into a stack of crates, getting right up in his face.

 

If he didn’t have blood pouring from his lip and a bruise blooming across his left cheekbone Nate would have given a lecherous remark about liking a man with an in charge attitude who could lift him up and bang him against a wall hard.

 

Danse started yelling, demanding an explanation from the pair of them and not reigning in his voice in the slightest.

 

He marched both of them through the ship to the command deck, the pair having the decency to look sheepish under their bloodied faces. Haylen followed after them, keeping her composure despite feeling mortified. Maxson was expecting them. Danse's voice carried well naturally, amplified greatly by the strange acoustics of the Prydwens hull.

 

Cade had patched them both up under protest. Nate had to be held down, howling and yelling when he found out he needed to be given a healing agent intravenously. That was how Danse discovered his Knight had an extreme dislike of injection syringes, realising that he could not recall ever seeing him use a stimpak. It was noted on his medical records, an unusual aversion for a soldier.

 

That hadn’t been the only incident involving the antagonistic Knight, Nathans record was peppered with commendations for his field work and disciplinary actions for his inappropriate behaviour the rest of the time.

 

It was also to be noted that immediately after his return from the Institute infiltration he had been a degree more insubordinate and reckless for a significant time. It was uncertain whether that was simply him being around more making it easier to notice, or if he had genuinely had a shift in attitude. Whatever had happened inside the Institute was not shared, even Danse could not coax it from him.

 

Nate had entered the Relay Interceptor with a grin and enough armaments to fight a small war. He had made a last sarcastic comment to Danse, the thunder-crack of energy drowning out whatever he had meant to say.

 

His return had been several hours late, the Relay Interceptor overloading upon his return and tearing itself apart while he just stood amongst its smoking wreckage. He had shoved the drive into a waiting Maxsons hands, dropped the backpack full of requisitioned equipment and left without speaking a word ignoring the order to explain himself.

 

Danse tried to stop him by stepping into his path. Gladius team had been waiting for him to return patiently, ready to celebrate a mission successful. Even Rhys had waited, shrugging off any suggestion of concern for Knight Nathan and insisting he wanted to know the outcome of the mission personally.

 

Nate had just shoved past them, taking off at a sprint.

 

The drive had been delivered straight into the hands of a team of proctors, all scrambling to see what terrible secrets it contained. They were sorely disappointed when they found layers upon layers of encryption. The first attempt to crack it unearthed a horrible mistake they had all made. The drive failed spectacularly when put under any stress, a chunk of its information lost forever. Teleportation caused degradation in devices not properly shielded, something the Institute knew well about and trusted to keep their technological advantage from ever leaking. Each new failure lost them so much and gave them so little.

 

The Institute recon mission had been deemed a failure, unforeseen circumstances ruining nearly everything brought back. Even months later it hadn’t given up its secrets. If nothing came of it soon the drive would be catalogued and put into storage, work on it halted if favour of more profitable ventures.

 

Knight Nathan had vanishing into the Commonwealth without a word. All teams in the field given standing orders to bring him back in, by force if necessary. Danse had expected him to return after a few days. When the end of the second week came and went without even a whisper of his presence concerns started to mount.

 

Maxsons patience ran out midway through the third week, Danse ordered to lead Gladius team on a recovery mission to all of the places he frequented.

 

Diamond City was a dead end, the meeting with the native synth that was known to associate with Nate ended badly. Rhys had made a disparaging remark about the synth detective, instantly ending all conversation and earning them a polite request to get the hell out of his office.

 

Goodneighbour made it very clear they were not welcome, the abomination of a mayor personally telling them not to go searching for Nate and that if he didn’t want to be found he wouldn’t be. Haylen did not handle the presence of ghouls well, giving herself a small dose of a stress suppressant immediately afterwards much to Danse's disapproval. She had been carrying a small supply of it with her for when they encountered ghouls.

 

The Minutemen had refused to give a clear answer, even when they marched into Sanctuary and demanded to know where he was. The mechanic with a laid back attitude and slow paced accent had come to greet them during their stand-off with the man in charge of the Minuteman operations, knowing an awful lot about Danse from conversations with Knight Nathan.

 

Sturges had introduced himself, taking a full stock of the Paladin and comparing it to the version of him he had constructed in his head from Nate's long rambling talks about him.

 

Gladius returned to the Prydwen empty handed, politely told that they would not be welcome in Sanctuary again. They must have at least alerted him to their search as the same day they returned to the ship his debriefing arrived in written form, delivered by a Mr Handy with an apology. It contained everything he had seen, a very well detailed tactical overview and a rough sketch of the facility layout but mentioned nothing of what had actually happened to him beyond making contact with the Director.

 

Maxson was on edge after reading it for some time. There were too many posibilities he did not like, asking Danse to be ready should any of them prove true. It wasn't impossible that Nate had been offered a chance to switch sides, coerced even using his abducted son as leverage.

 

It was only when Nate returned the following week, going straight to Maxson for a proper debriefing did the suspicion dissipate. He told the Elder that Shaun was dead and requested to be put into regular mission rotation with Gladius. He had requested they not be told what he had found.

 

Nate had to go through an assessment from Cade both physical and psychological along with a few weeks of adjustment before he was given missions again. They had him give a blood sample under violent protest, checking if he had traces of chems or anything viral the Institute had implanted as a delivery method in his body. His bloodwork came back clean, even lacking the usual trace markers of reliance on stimpaks.

 

His sleep had been disturbed for some time afterwards, easily startled awake when his sleep was usually so deep it took physical exertion to wake him. He complained about nightmares but refused to elaborate. The only time he had admitted anything Danse was certain he was just making up a bizarre lie. He had told them about a tower of books over a green ocean surrounded by flying deathclaws. Danse had suggested not drinking Nuka before bed. The caffeine and sugar was clearly addling his brain.

 

Cade had quiet advised Danse to talk to him about it. Maxson concured.

 

Nate had been very evasive the first few times he was asked, quickly shifting the topic or finding a swift escape. At one point he had deliberately overloaded a fusion cell just to make a distraction, Danse fully aware that he was far too practiced to make such an amateur mistake.

 

When he was finally cornered it had lead to their only real fight. Danse had tried to get him to open up delicately, and when that had failed he had ordered him to sit down and talk to him. Nate had stormed off ignoring a chorus of threats that he would be court-marshalled. Teagan had came to him soon after confused why Knight Nathan had shown up at his part of the ship in his civilian wear and requested a Knight Errant insignia when he hadn’t held that rank in a few months. The Errants where the free agents given lease to do what they pleased so long as they forwarded the cause of the Brotherhood. Nathan had been one until his induction into Gladius team.

 

Danse had tried to understand. Nathan was clearly grieving, but why he wouldn’t talk to any of his team was a mystery. Danse knew about Shaun, and had guessed that he had died to whatever experiments he had been taken for.

 

It was a week later when he returned. There was no formal proceedings, Elder Maxson had personally spoken to him and whatever had been said had an impact. Nate appeared to have had the time he needed to recover if it was ignored just how easily he slipped into reckless and needlessly vicious behaviour when confronted with danger. He had always had a problem with it; likely part of his stress coping mechanisms, but now it seemed to be his default approach to being shot at or attacked in any way. It was evident that Haylen was aware of the problem and Rhys watched him for signs of being a liability. They all trusted him not to let his personal issues get in the way of duty again.

 

Nate looked up from his game, meeting Danse's stare. The Paladin hadn’t realised he had been quietly observing them, so wrapped up in his thoughts. The Knight looked back down at his game, averting his gaze guiltily in a manner Danse found odd. Rhys and Haylen noticed it without comment, the same thing happening enough times to be routine.

 

An announcement over the tannoy broke through the quiet, the order issued for Gladius team to head up to Command for briefing. Nate practically launched himself from the chair, downing the last of his Nuka with a greedy gulp and dropping it into the recycling box on the countertop.

 

Danse lead them to Command quickly, giving the order to stand at attention and salute the Elder once they arrived. They stood in a neat row, legs spread a uniform distance, backs straight, faces impassive and a barked 'Elder' at their lips as they brought fist to chest in a salute. Maxson repeated the salute back, giving them an 'at ease' before handing out his orders.

 

It filled Danse's heart with pride to see his team present themselves so well even with all the problems beneath the surface, and he hoped they could stay together for a very long time.

 

 

 

 


	12. Ad Victoriam, Paladin

 

Day  3 since the Incident at Listening Post Bravo.

 

 

 

 

 

Desdemona idly looked up from her reading, watching her best agents squabble over that damned cloaking device she was sick of seeing and hearing about.

 

Danse plucked the screwdriver out of Deacons hands as he waved it about theatrically, pointing out what he perceived to be a faulty connection. Tom was insisting it was a workaround, bypassing the power regulation. Nate was more concerned with the strange spikes in power that heralded the tiny processor burning itself out. They were crowded around Nate, his pip-boy wired into the mess of parts and giving them a live feed of its various outputs and conditions.

 

Glory had waded in not long ago, assembling a new power source from the remains of a fusion cell based on what she could half remember from her time inside the Institute. That was how the argument had started, the need to integrate RobCo's less than stellar workmanship into something built from scraps of Institute designs was proving to be troublesome.

 

Nate in his frustration took a piece of foil and connected the parts as Tinker Tom had insisted, Glory and Danse protesting. The field established for only a moment, the effect distorted and weak before the safety mechanism shut it down. With a smug look he told Tom that Danse had been right all along, field strength was tied directly to stability and lowering it made the cloaking effect unreliable.

 

Danse was not one to be boastful when right and kept silent, the slightest smile the only open indication. Glory simply took the screwdriver and turned the screw that dialled up the strength, sliding the thicker emission coil she had suggested across the table toward them all.

 

The final experiment made the field several sizes too big and managed to vanish everything within five paces. Desdemona had looked up just in time to see this happen. Next came the yelling and the end of her patience.

 

She stood up from her reading, stretched her back out from having sat hunched over her terminal for so long and came over to help, deciding better of it when the air grew heavy at its edge. Her eyes felt strange, like they were struggling to focus or find purchase on anything she looked at. A tentative step back and then an experimental one forward blossomed into a distinct stabbing pain inside her skull.

 

Deacon and Nate had almost dropped on the spot, strength failing them both. Tom staggered out of the field and held his breath until the urge to dry heave passed and the nausea faded.

 

Danse and Glory both flinched away from it but were able to endure it.

 

Deacon could be heard fumbling blindly for the control switch of an invisible device, sitting on an invisible table, using invisible hands whilst his head was screaming bloody murder at him.

 

It was Danse who carefully leaned forward and found it.

 

It crackled alarmingly, the field hanging in the air with a smell of burnt metal and ozone.

 

“Its like all the worst fucking hangovers i've ever had all at once.” Deacon groaned fading into sight, pushing his palm into his forehead to make it stop. “I've drank that stuff distilled from radscorpion venom before and that doesn’t even come close.”

 

“The exposure was negligible, you'll live.” Danse berated him, not showing any outward sign of it having any effect.

 

“Agreed.” Glory folded her arms, shaking her head at Deacon.

 

Nate was leaning against the table, one hand gripping it so tight his knuckles were white and strained and the other pushing palm first into his left eye socket trying to relieve the pain.

 

Desdemona returned to the computer terminal, slipping the holodisk into her pocket.

 

“I'm calling it now.” She marched up and removed the fusion cell they had inserted as a temporary power source, taking her most authoritarian tone so her subordinates would know she was done putting up with them all. “You can work on this tomorrow, I strongly suggest you get some real food and rest.”

 

Deacon muttered something that sounded like 'yes mother' and shuffled away. He had thought they were making progress even if he didn’t understand much of it.

 

There was a guiltily high stack of snack cake tins and several Nuka bottles scattered about that had accumulated over the last few hours, nothing that could even be vaguely considered nutritious had been consumed.

 

Danse looked toward Nate, still almost statue still in position, making sure he was doing better. Nate slowly let go of the table and gave a very forced smile, assured him the pain was fading. His eyes were so bloodshot if they had been aboard the Prydwen Danse would have marched him to Cade no matter the hour.

 

After a handful of shallow breaths he stood tall, a half smile at his lips again.

 

Danse watched as Nate went to a shelf and brought over an old portable stove and a cooking pot. He lit it, pouring in a few bottles of purified water and leaving it boil, crumbling the contents of a small foil wrapped cube into it. He vanished behind a shelf looking for the cooler box, downing a handful of painkillers away from prying eyes before returning with various vegetables and glass containers of spice.

 

“I wasn’t aware you could cook Soldier.” he watched as Nate added various spices in very careful amounts, delicate care clearly being paid to it.

 

In the field Rhys was their cook. His food acceptable according to Haylen and Danse. Nate had called it every word for bland he could think of.

 

“I was a stay at home husband two hundred and something years ago, somebody had to do it.” Nate was dicing up meat and vegetables into very small chunks using what appeared to be a bayonet. “I have a few MREs if you'd prefer them?”

 

Danse shook his head a little too vigorously.

 

Nate had eaten the Brotherhoods MREs only once. He hadn’t thought it possible to set the bar any lower; the old world ones were awful and somehow the Brotherhood delivered. It was a tube of grey nutrient paste that tasted faintly of bile and a stiff cracker that had the flavour of damp cardboard and disappointment.

 

In his old life he had actually managed to get used to them. He could remember sitting in a military outpost somewhere in Canada with his unit eating them and finding them not half bad. He ignored the fact he couldn’t recall any of the faces of the people he had served with, names coming for only a few of them. This new generation were foul enough that he had actually gagged eating it.

 

They had been in the depths of a super mutant nest, Danse leading the charge. Once the site was secured he took out a pair, offering his Knight one. Haylen had held her breath, not wanting to even breath the same air. Rhys had immediately gone to check their immediately perimeter. Nate had missed those warning signs.

 

The Paladin barely chewed his, swallowing it as fast as possible.

 

Nate had made the mistake of letting it touch his tongue.

 

The image of a man in power armour retching like Quinlans cat trying to throw up a hairball was etched indelibly in Danse's memory. He would have laughed at the time, but it seemed terribly unprofessional and he had standards to upkeep. It brought a smile to his lips just remembering it.

 

The meat was fried up in a mostly intact wok and then dropped into the broth. It made the air smell lovely, Nate's mouth watering as he stirred the pot.

 

He hadn't had a proper meal in days. His body was running on a dangerous mix of adrenaline, sugar, caffeine and stubbornness. He was quite certain the moment he stopped he was going to be out of commission for at least a few days. He was certain the headache he had been suffering with was his body telling him to eat something with a higher nutritional value than cardboard.

 

Danse was likely in the same situation, though seemed to be handling it better. It was likely a part of his synth biology; Curie only seemed to eat a small, perfectly nutritionally balanced meal a day and showed no sign of malnutrition or fatigue from it. Danse was always fighting fit, able to recover very quickly from injury.

 

Now that he thought back on it he was surprised nobody had noticed earlier. The Institute made their Synths to be durable and low maintenance and Danse was certainly durable.

 

Food was ladled out, the amount made had been too much for the handful of agents present. Nate waved to Deacon, who got up from where he had sat himself with a book and switched on the field radio.

 

A burst of static was sent out across the frequency they used, a quiet signal for all the guards watching the approach to Old Church to return. Agents poured into HQ, a few taking their food and returning to the surface where they would eat from their hidden vantage positions and keep the lookout going. It got very crowded in a very short space of time. Chairs, stools and stacks of cushions were dragged to and near the main table, a friendly squabble for a place erupting.

 

Nate made no effort to eat with decorum, simply shovelling it in and drinking the remaining broth. Danse shook his head at it, muttering about how undignified it was for an officer of the Brotherhood to be seen eating like an animal. Nate responded by raising the bowl to his lips, eyes peeking over the brim as he slurped loudly not once breaking eye contact with his Paladin. His defiance was almost endearing. Almost.

 

There was something about his stubborn refusal to quite fit with decorum that had frustrated and fascinated Danse in equal measure. Nate had been a soldier a very long time ago so should have fully understood the purpose of such rules and codes of conduct. He just seemed to wilfully reject it.

 

Now that he was no longer Nate's superior officer he found it a small measure easier to put up with his insubordinate attitude, he could almost admire how he hadn’t let the Brotherhood break down that refusal.

 

The Railroad leadership and its various inner agents all had a space at the main table, eating and chatting happily. Deacon was telling a story, most of it embellishment, and had the whole room roaring with laughter. Nate smiled at it knowingly and alternated between his food and his light skimming of a copy of the Brotherhood Codex. The real version of events were very different in his memory.

 

Danse was at odds with it all. Officers not attached to a team ate only with other officers of equal rank, it promoted a sense of detachment from those they gave orders to so personal feelings would not influence command decisions. The field teams by contrast were small and close knit, some of them even quite insular and private. This was a stark contrast to both; he found himself wedged shoulder to shoulder with the other agents and none of them found it the least bit strange.

 

Food was passed and shared freely, a strange series of pre arranged exchanges going on about him. Deacon passed a box of snack cakes to Glory, Glory in turn passed a bowl of fresh mutfruit to one of the agents who then fulfilled their part of the trade by passing Deacon a half loaf of fresh bread. Danse watched with fascination as these exchanges happened with a kind of practised familiarity, Nate fulfilling his part of this strange dance by trading three bottles of Nuka Cola for one of Quantum, uncapping it instantly and pouring half into a glass that he then exchanged with another agent for a bottle of Nuka Cherry and two snack cakes. Nate passed the bottle and one of the snack cakes to his left, it going around the table until it stopped at Danse.

 

The former Paladin couldn’t help but smile at the offering.

 

He had also recognised the distinct half gesturing nod, half questioning smile they used to signal these exchanges. Nate did the same thing when he offered gifts of cake and Cherry Nuka over the mess hall table. He had obviously picked it up from them.

 

Glory nodded to him, and down at the cake. She put forth a bottle of Nuka Cherry, her finger raised to the middle of it the way Nate had a moment ago to offer half in trade. Danse shook his head. Glory just shrugged, a moments longing in her eyes at the tiny cake she had been refused. Nate just rolled his eyes at witnessing this and split his one in half, passing it down to her as a gift. She nodded appreciatively, leaving it in front of her to be savoured after her main meal was finished.

 

This all went on without anybody breaking conversation, even when arms crossed over people trying to eat and whole boxes of various food were passed about. Nate's meal had been the backbone of it, everyone got a little of it and the rest was made up with what they were willing to share. The agent to his left had given Danse a little of his bread and a cut of cold meat, asking nothing in return. As he watched he saw this happen a lot, everyone gave what they could spare from their own supplies in an effort to look after each other.

 

A single foil wrapped MRE had been placed at the centre of the table, carefully avoided by all present. It had been passed around many times, yet to find anyone brave enough to try after Deacons spectacular reaction the last time.

 

Danse did a quick headcount using only his eyes, not wanting to be noticed assessing the room. He could see about twenty agents at the table and several others nearby, some standing on tiptoe waiting for space to open and others sat relaxed in certainty that they would get as much as they needed. Those who couldn’t make it in where looked after, food had been shared back to them and their trades done by proxy.

 

This was nearly the sum total of that cell of the Railroad, each safe house acting autonomously with only the slightest oversight. Since Carrington had taken direct control of Mercer and left Desdemona with sole control of Old Church the organisation had grown considerably. They had several sites, Only Deacon, Desdemona and Carrington knowing where all of them where. Nate was only privy to the locations of three having helped scout out the other two, agents of each safe house only knowledgeable about one other as a fall-back position. The escalation of conflict between the Institute and Brotherhood along with the rise of the Minutemen had provided a lot of cover for their activities. It was easy to move about the city using Minutemen uniforms, wearing Gunner colours or dressed as raiders, whole teams masquerading if it got them where they needed to go. If the looming war calmed down they would become very noticeable with the number of active agents now operating.

 

The agents on either side of Danse introduced themselves using their codenames, asking for his. He told them that he was new and hadn’t been given one yet and might not get one. He had only completed a single mission.

 

“Liberated or sympathiser?” It took a moment to understand what the question meant. Was he human or synth?

 

He looked down into his food for a moment before answering.

 

“Liberated, but the situation is complicated.” Danse saw no malice at the answer, only sympathy.

 

“Who brought you in?” The other one chimed in, patting him on the shoulder in what he must have thought was a comforting way. Danse scrambled to remember Nates codename.

 

“Deacon and Charmer.” He answered, uncertain if he'd gotten it right.

 

“Reliable. Completely mad the pair of them. If you've got them watching your back I’m certain you'll be fine.” They quietly left the conversation at that. They could see the discomfort he felt on the topic, even if they thought it was because he was a freshly liberated synth.

 

He wondered if he had gone through this before. Had M7-97 a decade and a half ago been brought into another safe house and made to feel as welcome as he had here at HQ?

 

Realisation hit him, his eyes sweeping all gathered again with a fresh prespective. He couldn’t be certain who was a human and who was a synth.

 

He knew they had synth agents in their ranks, the chance he was the only one of his kind present slim to none.

 

He had overheard synth designations thrown about in conversation, unsure who they were addressed to or about. If there was lines drawn between flesh and machine he could not see it.

 

The way they treated each other was how he had been with Nate, Haylen and Rhys. The thought of it hurt, his thoughts returning to the situation he was in and to his memories of growing up alone. He now knew those memories were a lie, the Brotherhood had been the only thing close to a family he had ever really known and Gladius in the last year had filled the gap in its own unique way.

 

He had to wonder if Nate felt the same way, had he really viewed Gladius as family the way Danse had?

 

Here was a Brother in Steel fraternizing with an enemy faction as comfortably as he did with Gladius and with the same familiarity, and it put doubt into him. He could see Nate waving his arms about, calling out Deacon on a badly exaggerated story and giving the other agents the truth of the situation. He had that same dazzling exuberance in his eyes and laughter that he wore when him and Haylen were caught chatting when they were supposed to be keeping watch.

 

Danse tried to nudge the agents practically attached to his sides away unsuccessfully, wishing he had his armour on. His civilian wear was so thin compared to his old uniform, too exposed. The thought that any one of them could snap and try to kill them all with only a single phrase spoken by their Institute creators made his danger sense prickle loudly. It was all the worse when he realised that he was in the same situation.

 

He quietly excused himself from the table after finishing his food. He was pointed to where the empty bowls and cutlery was being stacked, cleaning duty would be meted out later.

 

He took his bottle of Nuka and the snack cake and retreated away from the bustle and noise, trying very hard not to let the pounding of his heart and burning in his lungs show on the surface as he fought the urge to draw breath too fast.

 

The cake brought him a small measure of comfort as he nibbled at the edge of it, sitting on his mattress with his back against the wall.

 

Nate was biting his lip, watching this all play out trying almost successfully to not appear to have been keeping a close eye on him the entire time.

 

It was Glory that saw the dark look Nate was wearing and his sudden silence. He offered her the other half of his snack cake as a bribe, pointing her in Danse's direction.

 

“Got an angle?” She slipped from her space, another taking it and joining in the group discussion that had sprung up.

 

It had started about the mission Deacon and Nate had been on, gotten somehow taken to the rules of baseball and had turned at some point to neuroethics.

 

Nates attention hadn’t been on it completely, missing the transition. He had missed these winding conversations; Rhys flat out wouldn’t talk to him, and though she was good company he shared few interests with Haylen. Danse he could talk to for hours, he had a strange love of the old world and what he saw as its wonders, marred by a distaste for the corruption that had tainted and eventually ended it all.

 

Nate moved away from the table, taking his bowl and glass of blue glowing liquid with him.

 

“You up to speed on his circumstances?” Nate watched as Glory leaned against the wall casually as he put his bowl into the small cleaning tub, shaking it a few times under the water and leaving it there for whoever was dealing with it today.

 

“I think so. He's the one you've been crushing on. Great soldier, nice ass, good at taking orders, turn out because he was built to take orders. I'm certain the nice ass was custom built too.” There was always something in her tone when discussing other synths, she would play up their enhanced natures in a not quite serious way. Nate had guessed it was her way of countering the attitude the Institute had instilled in them that they were less than human.

 

“And ruggedly handsome too. The Institutes perfect husband package.” Nate narrowed his eyes at her, laying on the sarcasm heavily. “In all seriousness I’m worried about him. Go make him feel welcome.”

 

“You calling for a ladies touch? I'm getting conflicting signals here. I thought he wasn't the type.” She put her hand against her hip, the look she was getting made a laugh rise in her. Charmer was hard to get a reaction out of, this little weakness one she would enjoy if Deacon didn’t get to it first.

 

“He needs a heart to heart, from toaster to toaster. He's got it into his head he isn't human.”

 

“He isn't. He's a synth. He should learn to enjoy it, I wouldn’t want to be human. You guys get old and sick really easily. And you die from the smallest injuries.” She shrugged, the look from Nate turning from his mock glare to deathly serious again.

 

“Not what I meant and you know it. He thinks he's not a person. Especially after what happened with the Brotherhood.” Nate tried not to flinch, he could still feel the air of the listening post clinging to him even days later. Glory had cocked her head, picking up on the slightest outward mark of his discomfort.

 

“I was only aware he was exiled. Is there more?”

 

“Elder Maxson ordered me to find Danse and execute him. I found him and he was just...He was ready to die. He told me he was proud of me for what I was about to do, that he was an abomination that needed destroying.” Nate felt his eyes starting to burn, blinking a few times until the anger subsided and it passed.

 

These where the times when Glory would simply hand them a large weapon and send them down to the practice range. If they did that now there would be a mad scramble as every field agent drew arms and dropped straight into combat readiness.

 

Glory gently put her hand on his arm, bringing his attention away from those memories and anchoring him in the present. She could see him replaying the events in his head, lingering in it without someone to snap him from it.

 

“Alright. I understand. I might be able to knock some sense into him.” She looked from Nate whose mood had dropped like a stone, over to Danse who had that same far away look in his eyes. The Railroad liked taking in the lost and the broken, she blamed that squarely on Deacon.

 

Danse had been so lost in his thoughts he had only passingly noted Glory taking a seat on the floor next to him, leaning against the wall and waiting for him to start.

 

“Is he that worried?” Danse had been going over what had happened, wondering if there had been a better way out. Every alternative to that encounter with Elder Maxson either ended in his death or theirs. Neither was acceptable, one possible less so.

 

“Concerned. He cares about you a lot, plain to see.”

 

“I wish I understood why. Is there really much worth caring about?”

 

“You should be more confident. He likes it when you're confident.” Glory carefully laid the trap.

 

“How do you know that?” Danse's brow furrowed in annoyance.

 

“Me and Deacon knew he liked you months before before he did. He would talk about how great a soldier you were and how you inspired him, then he starting talking about you as a person and how he looked up to how good and kind hearted you were. After a while it got really obvious.” The trap was sprung. He was drawn out from his unhealthy dwelling and into territory she was more familiar with.

 

“He discussed this with you and Deacon?”

 

“Who else? He couldn’t exactly gush to Rhys and Haylen about it. He told us about all of Gladius, the handsome officer, the trusted medic and the asshole. I can remember 'decorum prohibits it' getting on my nerves. He usually gives zero attention to properness or the rules, so why would it suddenly be a problem for you? It was his constant excuse to not just ask you out because he was too damn scared of losing you as a friend.” She watched as his attention was fully diverted. That was the opening she needed.

 

“I hadn’t realised this had been going on for some time.” Danse had worried that what had happened was a recent development, a passing fancy that would fade. He felt a little better knowing otherwise, the slightest of smiles appearing.

 

“I know what happened to you.” There was a moment of quiet between them. “I've been through it too, having nothing and being nothing. It gets easier, we have more in common with them than the pricks in white coats led us to believe.”

 

Danse's expression hardened. He looked at Glory for a moment as if reassessing her with that small revelation.

 

“We're not human.” He said it with finality after a moment of reflection.

 

“Of course not, but we're still people. I think and feel no differently than anybody else here, and deserve to be treated no differently. Here let me show you something.” She stood up, pointing toward the table where the last few were still eating. “Give me your opinion of me.”

 

“You're kinda a bitch. Not even kind of, just straight up a bitch.” Deacon called across the room, his tone quite warm and gently mocking. Glory picked up the nearest small object and threw it at him. He ducked aside, catching it mid-flight with practised ease. It was a can of cram.

 

She knelt back down until she was eye level with Danse again.

 

“See?” She gestured toward Deacon. “Not abomination, machine or less than a person. Just a bitch, and if I’m honest I know exactly who, between me and Deacon, is the bitch.” Glory chose to leave it at that. She could see him having to push down the short laugh. A smile caught the edge of his lips, his eyes no longer as downcast as they had been.

 

“I appreciate you taking the time to check up on me. I usually have a team at my back for that, I'm finding it difficult without them.”

 

“I know you've been offered a place in the Railroad, and that makes you family. We look after our own.” She rose to her feet, nodding an affirmative to Nate who had been quietly observing from a distance.

 

The last of the agents had crept out, scattering by tunnel and secret routes to their posts around Boston Commons. It was only the leadership and a small few others now. The quiet had returned, and with it Danse felt less unsettled and exposed.

 

Nate waited at the main table, making long work of a small repair task to waste as much time as he could inconspicuously. He watched Danse get up, stretch, grab a towel and head down to the weapon range where the showers had been set up. There was a momentary thought, awful and tempting that he had to ignore. Danse needed more time, they both needed to figure out what was actually between them, and Nate needed to talk to Desdemona without anybody witnessing it.

 

The image streaked through his mind, white hot and dazzling. It was made worse when Danse reappeared in fresh clothes with his skin still damp and glistening. He had tried to be subtle and not stare, but Danse just shook his head in embarrassment at how obviously smitten he was.

 

Danse was perhaps slightly flattered beneath it all, retreating toward his sleeping space. From nose tip to ear tip was blushing bright red, the obviousness of it making Nate smile so brightly he couldn’t help but shyly smile back.

 

Deacon and Glory both made a very loud retching noise at the pair of them and proceeded to laugh with each other, mocking the Paladins. Deacon laughed so hard his sides burnt and his face was as red as the now openly glaring Brotherhood soldiers, sat and stood bolt straight.

 

Danse stalked away, burying himself in blankets and pillows, hoping sleep would come easily.

 

Nate waited. Agents filed in and out, Deacon gave his goodnights, Glory went out on patrol, HQ wound down until the only sound was the faint clacking of a mechanical keyboard from where Desdemona was working. She was always the last to bed and first awake. Excluding PAM who was near eternally vigilant.

 

He passed Desdemonas workstation, flicking the note into her lap with the quickest of movements and not missing a step as he passed her by and fished a Nuka Quantum out of the cooler.

 

Out in the tunnels he popped the cap and downed a quarter of it so fast the bubbles stung his throat. Desdemona arrived to him faintly coughing, reminded again why this agent was not sent on espionage.

 

It took a moment for him to compose himself.

 

Its wasn’t a secret that the Brotherhood of Steel was looking down on their activities and it was only a matter of time before they took a misstep and brought Maxsons wrath down upon them. With a dour expression he offered Desdemona a solution.

 

She just looked through him the entire time, absorbing it and running it through her own processes. It was technically sound, but needed a lot of fine work and calculated gambles.

 

She said nothing until he was done.

 

“I think you're a maniac. I'll have PAM run simulations, you're leaving far too much to chance.” Was all she said after it all. She really needed a cigarette and a deep think.

 

“Thanks for trusting in me.”

 

Nothing more was said, but there was something in the way she looked at him that made him certain that 'trust' had perhaps not been quite the right word.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is a relic from an earlier draft of this chapter. Originally Nate was going to casually flirt with Danse by whispering 'Ad Victoriam, Paladin' in his ear. It got cut because it felt like a really insensitive thing to say to someone still grieving the loss of their purpose, and in this version they haven't quite worked up to that kind of intimacy yet.
> 
> This is the start of the second story arc, where the plan Nate and Desdemona are working on takes shape and things are set in motion.


	13. I Could Blow it all on Booze and Loose Women

Day 4 since the Incident at Listening Post Bravo.

 

 

Danse and Desdemona sipped tea and sifted through intel as usual operations circled around them.

 

A piece of torn paper with a hastily scrawled note was passed over to Danse, who studied it with a mild frown and put it into one of the folders before him. Desdemona had been pleasantly surprised just how efficiently he could collate and process information, seeing the pattern behind Institute movements and make suggestion how best to react. He attributed it to years of experience, both on the battlefield and the more mundane tactical and clerical work he sometimes took part in.

 

Glory instead suggested it was a trait inherited from their distant ancestor the calculator. He had not been impressed at this suggestion.

 

The Institute was making more overt actions, growing bolder by the day. The Brotherhood had responded in force with more vertibirds in the air than Danse thought was wise and far too many soldiers on the ground. Scouting movements from both sides had been witnessed near Bunker Hill, setting off far too many alarms in various Railroad safehouses.

 

The Minutemen were holding their own corner well enough, but supplies were in short supply between the Diamond City security forces bunkering down for war, the militia at Goodneighbour matching them, the raiders taking advantage of all the moving arms to fill their own armouries, the Brotherhood trying to press for supplies and the Railroad scrambling for the leftovers. Danse had a stack of requests for aid and armaments piled up next to him, bearing the names of safehouses the Brotherhood had not even heard whispers of.

 

The Minutemen radio channels had been alight with activity for hours. Nate had been up on a nearby rooftop with a field radio, taking up the role of General reluctantly. Danse had brought him a flask of Desdemonas tea, getting a smile of appreciation as he argued with two captains how best to deal with the rather aggressive demands the Brotherhood was making of them. Amongst the officers there had been a rumbling of unrest, scarcity bringing out the worst in them.

 

They were technically allies, a running contract between them offered food and supplies in exchange for dealing with the threats that only power armour and overwhelming force could handle. That deal was starting to look less secure than anyone would have liked.

 

Preston was quietly leaning on Nate to sort it out. Nate was trying very hard to work out how.

 

Desdemona had the Minutemen marked as a 'valuable asset' much to Nates annoyance. She only saw how they could use them to mask their own activities, and borrow their communication channels to covertly pass information. It made them a lot less blind to oncoming danger.

 

She didn’t say it aloud as the former Paladin might have taken umbridge with it, but cutting off the flow of supplies to the Brotherhood would at least slow their mobilisation. She would just have to convince Nate it was a good idea though.

 

PAM was working on his plan, though certain methods had been completely struck from the calculation. Nate refused the first three options presented, and made it known that he would not support the Railroad any further if they even considered that an acceptable solution. Operation Rockets Red Glare was consigned to the trash the moment it had been presented. His mood had been unusually snappy upon returning from four hours of radio negotiations, made worse when it was suggested they simply blow up the Brotherhood.

 

Split loyalties were a dangerous thing, and the Railroad leader was watching him walking the line a little too close to falling.

 

A courier arrived and pinned a note to the information board before darting off again. She recognised him as one Glory often employed directly, a part of her own little contact network.

 

Desdemona went to check what it was, noting it was marked with a lowercase 'd' in the centre of the eight pointed railsign.

 

She flicked it open despite it being marked to someone else.

 

It was only four words, her glancing look catching them all before Deacon was quick enough to snatch it from her.

 

'Bravo compromised as expected'

 

They had no safehouses with call sign bravo as far as she was aware.

 

Deacon took it to Nate who was currently working to repair a laser rifle, his mood still low and his brow in a near constant furrow. He read it with an even deeper scowl, eyes briefly looking over to Danse. He was oblivious, still working.

 

Desdemona observed all of this, noting how Nate always seemed to be in the centre of some secret goings on. Secrets within secrets were the way they all lived, but it had a way of ending badly.

 

He crumpled the note, face contorted with anger, possibly even betrayal. He exchanged sharp words with Deacon, who just shrugged it off. They were careful to keep their voices low. Glory had noticed the courier leaving, marching up to Nate and Deacon to put her opinion into the mix. That also potentially explained where she had vanished off to on her patrols if Deacon and Nate had her watching a location.

 

She looked back at her work, not wanting to be caught trying to eavesdrop on them. She would likely be informed later. Taking a sip of her tea she passed a page over to Danse and asked his opinion about the Brotherhoods movements.

 

He pointed out the likely next location they were going to sweep through. They were clearing out raider and supermutant controlled locations from east to west in a curved pattern. It was likely only luck they had passed them over, so close to the airport and Goodneighbour was likely assumed secure. The Brotherhood didn’t want to risk attacking the Goodneighbour militia, in the year since Nate had joined the Brotherhood it had expanded rapidly under the guidance of a new head of security. Cait and Farenheit between them had dragged it up from a band of half capable ghouls and mercenaries to a competent fighting force. With a little support under the table from the Minutemen.

 

Nate came over, pressing a light touch to Danse's shoulder. There was not a trace of the anger Desdemona had witnessed moments ago.

 

“I need to go to Diamond City for something, is there anything I can do whilst i'm out?” Nate left his hand on Danse's shoulder, leaning over and against him whilst he addressed the Railroad leader.

 

“I've got nothing for you I’m afraid. Keep an ear out for anything we might need to know, and I wouldn't say no to a few basic supplies.”

 

“I'll see what I can do.”

 

“Good luck.”

 

“Be safe Soldier.” Danse watched him leave, brow growing more furrowed as he disappeared through the door. Glory had followed, having wanted to talk with him about something.

 

It hadn't gone unnoticed that he was wearing the Chameleon armour and had left his power armour still at the main table. Deacon had put a floral hat and scarf on it at some point. Danse thought it looked ridiculous and disrespectful of such a finely crafted machine.

 

The chameleon armour still wasn’t combat ready. He had worked to restore it to its previous state, but that was still nowhere near what Danse or Desdemona considered even approaching safe to use.

 

Desdemona coughed to draw Danse attention away from the exitway.

 

“I noticed it too. He'll be fine, I can't see him using it frivolously.” She was not being entirely honest, she could see him using it for the most trivial reasons. She could however trust Glory to keep him vaguely in line, with threats if necessary.

 

“I can. He has no respect for boundaries, telling him not to use it will only encourage him.” Danse snorted.

 

“Turned out well enough for you. Tell him you can't love a machine and look what went and happened.” she spoke without looking up from her reading.

 

“Love?” He pulled a very sour expression, disbelieving it had gotten quite that far.

 

“I cannot speak for his feelings, but there is something more there than simple lust.” Desdemona answered evenly. “Even if he perhaps isnt quite acknowledging it. He isn’t exactly the most emotionally aware person I’ve encountered, and that is putting it mildly.”

 

“In love?” He said it again, more to himself this time. It was less disbelieving, but still sceptical. “We have not addressed nor discussed exactly what feelings are present.”

 

“Its no wonder it took this long for you to figure it out.” There was a moment of calculation in her mind, weighing the paths and outcomes. “Go after him, you should be spending time together. Go nuke a supermutant nest or something, whatever you two do as a date.”

 

On the surface she carefully made it appear to be genuine concern for Nate. Beneath she was trying to make doubly certain that Danse had reason not to betray them, emotional entanglement was a volatile if effective motivator.

 

“Nuking supermutants is their foreplay, not dating” Deacon piped up from where he was sitting. Danse just covered his face with his hand, Desdemona ignoring the spy completely. Deacon stood up from the table and wandered off, making a show of being offended at not being acknowledged.

 

“What about the reports?” Danse muttered through his fingers.

 

“I can handle them, go.” she waved him away dismissively.

 

Danse stood, pulling a salute to which she rolled her eyes. He powered up his armour and climbed in, running with steps heavy enough to shake the foundations.

 

Behind mirrored sunglasses Deacon was thinking several steps ahead. He could feel it in the air, that same nameless dread he had felt in '77 and '81. Nate was playing too safe, too hesitant. By the time the worst happened there would be no time left to plan.

 

He was just taking the same action he knew Nate would once the situation spiraled out of control. At PAMs alcove he changed a single variable in the simulations she was running, requesting she run this change quietly and to only report it when specifically asked about it.

 

The two centuries and change old popsicle wasn’t the only one who could make secret plans.

 

 

 

 

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

 

 

 

 

Glory idly kicked the remnant of a glass bottle down the street, watching it skitter to a halt in a moss filled hole in the asphalt.

 

“I get why you're doing it this way but you have to know it'll bite you in the ass eventually?” Her tone was casual, her walk slow and almost slouched. Only her eyes were any different. She scanned every rooftop and window, always calculating the odds and risks.

 

“I do.” It was almost a sigh, consigning himself to having to deal with this awkward conversation.

 

“You have to tell him the truth.”

 

“And how am I supposed to do that?” Nate snorted in irritation. “Hello Danse, I love you but I’m plotting to maybe assassinate the man you were willing to give your life for and start a rebellion that could permanently damage the Brotherhood. Doesn’t roll off the tongue does it?”

 

“Perhaps a softer touch than that. Ever heard of tactfulness?” Glory gave an almost laugh, shaking her head.

 

“I don’t think there's a good way to say it.”

 

“The Brotherhood is being lead down a dark path.” Glory did her best impression of Danse, instead sounding like the voice Deacon used when mocking Danse. “We need to rally those who still believe in the good of the people we are bound to protect, forswear the fleeting glory of war and dreams of conquest. Maxson must be made to stand down.”

 

“He doesn’t sound like that.” It was mumbled rather petulantly.

 

“Danse is a sensible sort. He understands the reality of his situation even if he doesn’t like it. He will understand what we are planning is the only way out of this.”

 

“If we have to do it at all. I don't want him to know if we aren’t even certain it'll come to that.” He just shook his head.

 

"The Brotherhood is his enemy now. His and ours, even if you havnt figured it out yet yourself. Secrets will get you nowhere in the end. They take everything from you, bit by bit until you've only got your life left to give.”

 

“A bit melodramatic.”

 

“Its true, look at Deacon. He wears 'em so thick I doubt there’s much of him left under there.”

 

“Its our job. We're spies, I think.” Nate considered for the briefest moment just how strange and absurd his life in the Railroad was.

 

“Doesn’t stop it taking from us. We make sacrifices, knowing we probably won't be remembered and hoping what we do matters for the future.”

 

“What has it cost you?”

 

“Nothing, yet. I have nothing but my life to give to the cause, never had anything else. I was a slave if you haven’t forgotten.” she raised an eyebrow at him, watching him just roll his eyes.

 

“I haven’t. And I’m certain the job won't kill you. We could drop a Brotherhood strike team on you and you'd just come out of it even more pissed off.”

 

“One day I won't come out fighting. I know full well that I’ll die freeing my people or defending a safehouse from our enemies. I give it all happily.” There was a resigned kind of serenity to her. “You on the other hand have far too much to lose and are gambling far too recklessly.”

 

“You sound like my mother. Going to tell me to wash behind my ears and wear fresh underwear every day?” It was said mockingly, but it occurred to Nate that he couldn’t recall his mother at all. Another lost chunk of memory taken by the cryo sleep.

 

“First of all I’m just being the voice of reason.” Her tone went from serious to light very quickly. “Second I know exactly how long it has been since you washed or changed your clothes. I would drop you in the river if I didn’t think the mirelurks would eat you. No, I actually think they wouldn’t eat you. Nobody likes eating food that’s been rolling around in the dirt for a week and a half.”

 

“I get the hint. I'll shower when we get to Diamond City.”

 

“Damn right you will. Enhanced senses aren't a blessing when I have to be within breathing distance of...” Glory instantly raised her pistol, dropping into a crouch and tilting her head to listen.

 

Nate matched her, searching for what had alerted her.

 

She mouthed something to him, tapped her ear and pointed back the way they had came.

 

A few seconds later he could hear it, the distinct whine and hiss of power armour servos.

 

Glory grabbed his hand and nodded to the activation switch on his armour, threading her arm with his so close the stealth field would cover them both.

 

They sat on the side of the road, unable to move without compromising the field and making themselves visible.

 

Glory raised her pistol, the slight movement leaving a dragging blur in the air around them. Nate whispered for her to be careful, reaching for his own rifle with only slight movements.

 

From out behind the fire blackened wreckage of a military convoy came Danse, moving at a fairly brisk speed. He had that look of fierce determination Nate had missed.

 

Glory felt the tightening of his grip, signalling he was going to drop the cloaking.

 

Even with a head now full of jumbling fog his grin was broad.

 

“Paladin!” Nate called out, realising a moment too late how many mistakes that had been. Loudness in potentially hostile territory, announcing Brotherhood presence, giving away their position, startling an armed soldier, and worst of all possibly reminding Danse of his loss.

 

He spun on his heel, rifle pointed straight at the now standing Nate.

 

Glory brushed dust from her knees and offered him a half hearted wave of greeting.

 

With a scowl he flicked the safety on and lowered it, a tingly feeling creeping into his chest at the warm smile his Soldier was giving him. It was almost enough to forgive him for the use of the stealth device, he could spot the mark of its use by the bright bloodshot colour of his right eye and the way Glory was shrugging like there was an itch under her skin.

 

“Soldier.” Danse coughed awkwardly to clear his throat. “I though it best you not travel alone, these are unsafe times and I have a duty to protect you.”

 

It was clearly an excuse and everyone present knew that. Nate just let a slight laugh free, happy to invite Danse along with them.

 

Glory tried to give Nate a sharp look, reminding him that their conversation was not finished and matters needed resolving. It was ignored.

 

 

 

 

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

 

 

 

 

Nick was at his desk writing up a detailed account of the many indiscretions of his latest clients husband when the door swung open.

 

“Close it behind you will ya, you'll let all the dust in.” He looked up, focusing his glowing eyes onto Nate first and then surprised to see the Brotherhood Paladin at his back. “I worry its dust that'll blow in and instead its riff-raff. What can I do you boys for?”

 

“Its good to see you Nick.” Nate said, strolling in casually. Danse just nodded to him as a greeting.

 

Nate took a chair, slipping gracefully onto it and resting his feet up on the desk with smirk firmly in place.

 

“Its good to see one of you. Business call, or did your friend here just want to call me an abomination a few more times whilst you were in the neighbourhood?”

 

There was a moment of sharp silence, Nick watching Danse as if waiting for the retort.

 

“I think I owe you an apology.” Danse managed to look very small despite being in his armour.

 

There was another moment of silence as Nick processed this.

 

“Where'd this come from? You Brotherhood types don't take too kindly to my kind of people. In the separate drinking fountains and school entrances kind of way.” The reference was almost three centuries out of date, Danse completely oblivious to its meaning. Nate gave him a shocked look, wondering where such a biting comment had come from.

 

“So news hasn't made it out of the Brotherhood yet?” Nate thought aloud to draw attention swiftly away. “That's good to know for now.”

 

“News? I'm feeling awfully left out of the loop.” Nick looked between them as if expecting an answer.

 

Danse took a breath, licking his lips briefly and swallowing. His throat felt suddenly dry.

 

“M7-97.” Was all he said.

 

“An institute synth designation?” Nick would have raised an eyebrow if there was one to raise. He had possessed a set briefly when Nate had insisted on drawing them on. It had not been a very good look for him.

 

“Mine.” It was spoken quietly, an unpleasant confession.

 

The silence came back for a third time.

 

“I can see why that might change your mind about things. This got anything to do with the story Piper ran about a beloved officer being killed a few days ago?” Nick motioned to a copy of Publick Occurrence sitting on the corner of his desk. Danse lowered his head, Nates jaw briefly shifted as if biting back an angry reaction. “I see. Quite the conundrum you boys have gotten yourself into.”

 

“It is.” Danse said, keeping his head lowered.

 

“Well I can be the bigger man here and accept your apology. There's a good heart under all that steel and that's plain to see. So why don't you tell me what you're here for?”

 

“I need you to do some digging for me.” Nate paused, turning to his companion. “I need to discus this alone, will you wait outside for me?”

 

Danse looked like he was about to protest before deciding otherwise. He had become increasingly irate with how the Railroad kept information tightly under control, even within a single operating cell until he chose to let go of the frustration. He could understand the strange practice even if he didnt agree with it.

 

Once he was out the door Nate turned to speak. Nick held his hand up and shook his head, leaning in close.

 

“The wall creaks when someone's outside the door. The tincan is trying to listen in.” Nick looked to the door, keeping his voice low. “Ellie, would you mind taking a glass of something to our guest outside, he sounded a bit raspy. Keep him company too.”

 

“What's he drink?” His secretary piped up, knowing exactly what was being asked beneath the request.

 

“Nuka Cherry if we have any.” Nick beckoned to a cooler sitting on a pile of cinderblocks.

 

“Good guess?” Nate said as Ellie fetched the bottle and emptied it into a pint glass, putting the cap on the edge of Nicks desk. She put a straw and a novelty umbrella in it, setting it on a silver platter before taking it outside.

 

Nate watched it go by, wondering why he never got drinks with fancy umbrellas in them from Nick.

 

“I make an effort to know the character of everyone you travel with. And you certainly like to keep the company of a right lot of characters. Paladins, spies, coursers, ghouls, supermutants, raiders, the list goes on and on.”

 

There was a slight flinch at 'raiders' that Nick chose not to ask about. He had heard little bits of news about the weeks Nate had vanished into that cursed theme park.

 

Nicks secretary opened the door, the former Paladin jumping back quickly and trying very hard to look like he hadn’t been trying to eavesdrop.

 

The door was firmly closed behind her, the look she gave Danse making it very clear that the detective took the confidentiality of his clients very seriously.

 

“Safe to speak?”

 

“Is now. So what's so important you don’t want him hearing all about it?”

 

“I'm planning to start a coup in the Brotherhood of Steel and I need the names of anybody who would side against Elder Maxson.” It felt weird to finally say it out loud to somebody not Railroad.

 

There was the span of a heartbeat as Nick contemplated this.

 

“And how are you expecting to pull this one off?”

 

“Weight of numbers. The Brotherhood has split before in recent history and the cracks haven’t healed yet. Danses 'execution' has drawn a lot of open criticism from my brothers and sisters in steel, if I can get enough Knights and Paladins to support me I can challenge Maxson for control of the whole chapter.”

 

“that’s an awfully big 'if', kid. And it relies on you being able to best him. Just what do you plan to do once you're Elder of the Brotherhood of Steel?”

 

“Unite the Commonwealth against the Institute, and fix that problem once and for all.”

 

“All that ambition is well and good but I can see ulterior motives here.” The detective raised a questioning non existent eyebrow at him.

 

“And reverse Paladin Danse's exile.” Nate said it petulantly.

 

“Figured as much. He going to be your new second in command? I'm certain you'd be quite happy to have serving under you.” Nate was about to agree when the mild innuendo sank in. Nick's glowing eyes were questioning him.

 

“We've made progress in that department.” A shy, almost guilty admission.

 

“About damn time. It was tiring watching you give googly eyes to the back of his head. Like a lovesick puppy.”

 

“I was not that bad.” Nate stiffened up, looking defensive.

 

“Oh you were. Back on the topic at hand, just how many are you expecting to side with you?”

 

“The remaining members of the Lyons Pride and its associates likely will, and I’m certain at least half of the new recruits have an axe to grind. A lot of brothers and sisters look up to Paladin Danse, even now. They built a shrine to his memory in his old room. We've just got to convince them Danse's execution was the mark of an unfit leader and that they need to side against Maxson.” Nate had the dangerous smile on his lips that would have made Nicks blood run cold if he had any.

 

“No plan ever survives contact with the enemy. Remember that. You're dealing with a man with a dangerous reputation and a lot of fanatical loyalty. I fear you'll have to cut a bloody path to him if this hits the fan.” Nick offered pensively. “I'll get you your list of names.”

 

“Thanks Nick.”

 

“I ain’t working gratis on this. You promise to cover any expenses and I’ll throw in my time for free. Only doing this because you're my friend and I think you deserve a little happiness, and if you have to hijack a zeppelin full of fanatics to get it I won't get in the way of that.”

 

“A couple hundred up front, and try not to the break the bank if it can be avoided.” Nate dropped a sizeable pouch of caps on Nicks desk.

 

“No promises, I could blow it all on booze and loose women.” The synth laughed sharply before giving him a deep, serious look. “You sure about this kid?”

 

“If I’m honest, no, I’m not. I just cant see another way out of this I can live with.”

 

“If this goes belly up you won't have to live with the consequences. Go tend to your tincan boy toy, he's probably getting antsy. And I suggest you make the time with him count, nothing worse than regrets when the end comes.”

 

“Not when, if. I don't intend to die just yet.” That arrogant smile crept back in, a confident turn of his lip and a flash of teeth.

 

“You rarely get a choice in the matter.”

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been back and forth wondering about how I phrased Nicks rather aggressive jab at the Brotherhood. Its the third or fourth version of it, one of them was 'You Brotherhood types don't take too kindly to my kind of people. In the dressing up in white sheets and pointy hoods kind of way" which I thought was probably too much. Way too much. Still uncertain if the one I left was too much too.
> 
> I'm also uncertain about the chapter title and the line it referenced, I find writing Nick difficult and i'm not certain i've gotten it even remotely close or if he's become a bad film noir cliche.
> 
> On a lighter note: Thank you to those that have left kudos, bookmarked and especially those of you who have commented.


	14. Contact with the Enemy

Day  4 since the Incident at Listening Post Bravo.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Danse had been unaware that Nate had a small house in Diamond City. Nate had unlocked the door, dropped his armour and backpack off and suggested he do the same.

 

It was sparsely decorated and heavily cluttered, seeming more like a warehouse for all the junk he accumulated than a home. Weapons in various states of repair were strewn about, some in the process of being dismantled and studied. There was a pyramid of duct tape rolls, Nate being very evasive about it when asked.

 

Nate insisted on getting a quick shower, activating a convoluted set of heaters and turning a set of valves that looked more at home aboard the Prydwen. Danse simply raised an eyebrow when it was explained that Glory had ordered him to take one. As far as he was aware Glory was of equal rank to Nathan, not that the Railroads hierarchy made any sense to him.

 

He put his armour into the dock and settled on a threadbare couch. He couldn’t help but let his eyes be drawn to the Brotherhood flag pinned to the wall, its wings and gears a quiet reminder of where Nate's loyalties should have been. It would have been a more comforting thing to know he wore his loyalty even in his home if he hadn’t spotted the white painted mark next to the door. Deacon had taught him the railsigns and their meanings. Homeplate was marked as both safehouse and a place where an ally could be found.

 

Far too many minutes later Nate returned in fresh clothes, hair still damp and sticking to his face. He was quite defensive when Danse simply pointed out how much water he had wasted on a task that should have taken barely a handful of minutes. Nate defended his civilian comforts, almost wilting at the almost serious look Danse was giving him.

 

With a small sidearm in place they left for the market square, Nate buying up what supplies they needed and putting a few orders in to be picked up at a later date. The wares were sparse and the prices higher than usual, the weight of the impending war between the Brotherhood and Institute casting its first shadows on the mostly unconcerned population of Diamond City.

 

Even wearing a concealing hood and a set of goggles that he found restrictive to his arc of vision Danse couldn’t help but relax the slightest when it came time for them to sit down to food. Nate paid for it out of his own pocket without being asked, offering Danse whatever he wanted and as much as he wanted.

 

Danse could not be quite sure but he was beginning to wonder if he had somehow stumbled into a date without realising.

 

It was only when Glory had briefly joined them on her way out of the city for her own task did it become starkly apparent. She had suggested they needed candles and red roses to properly set the mood, give it the romantic ambience it deserved. Nate had turned the colour of the hypothetical roses from ear tip to nose as she left them in peace, almost cackling to herself as she did so.

  
After a few seconds of staring a hole in the noodles Danse had quietly suggested that he did not object to it being a date. This did not have the intended effect, destroying what little of Nates composure remained and turning his blush a scarlet so deep the fallen Paladin was genuinely concerned for his blood pressure.

 

Danse had suggested they just get on with eating, trying very hard to ignore the idiotic and far away smirk Nate was now wearing.

 

They whittled the day away being fairly idle. Nate had checked in with one of his contacts, confirming that several Brotherhood patrols were currently in the routes between Diamond City and Old Church, blocking their way back for the time. They both wondered how true that was, Danse had the schedules and routes memorised and the information did not in any way match. They both suspected Desdemonas hand in this.

 

It was still relatively early in the night when they left the Dugout Inn, Nate suggesting an early night. They would need to set out before dawn when the Brotherhood swapped their night and morning teams out, and when the Institute recalled their surface forces for routine inspection.

 

Danse slightly suspected an ulterior motive to suggesting an early night. To his mild surprise Nate was the model of self control. He had almost expected some attempt at seduction, maybe even a lewd suggestion of a roll between the sheets if he was feeling especially bold.

 

Nate slept easily and deeply, a rare trait amongst the Brotherhood.

 

There had been many times in the field they had to conserve heat. During the coldest part of winter Gladius had all slept together in Danse's quarters on a pile of mattresses and blankets. Rhys slept as far from Nate as he could after the first morning he awoke with Nate practically wrapped around him. Haylen had quietly found it hilarious.

 

All too soon the Pip-boy starting playing 'Ride of the Valkyries' startling both of them awake. Nate had wrapped himself around the Paladin, and had drooled on his shoulder at some point. Danse wiped it off with an only half serious scowl, rolling his soldier off of him. Two more pushes and Nate hit the floor, grumbling and groaning as he did so.

 

Danse stood, performing his morning stretches in only his underwear. Nate had propped his head up over the edge of the bed to watch, appreciating the view between closing his eyes for successively longer periods of time. The former Paladin stopped his routine when he heard snoring.

 

He lifted Nate's head, propping open his mouth between protests and put the bottle on Nuka Quantum to his lips. Nate snatched it, mumbling something that vaguely sounded like 'i'm not a baby, can drink myself' intoned entirely through grunts. He was not a morning person, and was very much not an early morning person.

 

“Come on Soldier, we've got a lot of ground to cover and not a whole lot of time to do it.” He had gotten himself up, packed a bag, checked his equipment and was ready to go by the time Nate was coherent enough to be able to hold a conversation.

 

The air was biting cold when they finally left Homeplate, Nate dragging his heels and grumbling to himself about early mornings and how he got his fill of them in the Brotherhood. His complaints were all peppered liberally with a choice selection of expletives that just made Danse shake his head in mild disappointment.

 

They managed to not say anything for most of the journey, Nate slowly going from looking so dead he could pass for a freshly turned ghoul to something resembling a regular human. By the time the first flecks of orange tinted the sky he was back to his usual exuberant self.

 

They made good time, Danse insisting on alternating between walking and quick marching. Nate guided him through routes he had been unaware of, shortcuts through buildings, old tunnels and over raider built walkways. His route was a lot faster and kept them away from the main roads more likely to be patrolled.

 

It was only when they turned onto Salem Street where Old Church was located did things things start to go wrong. Nate hadn't been paying attention, content to follow Danse's lead for the last leg of the journey.

 

Danse dropped into a crouch, rifle unslung from his back and raised.

 

Nate kept moving forward, mind very far away. He was startled to be yanked back around the corner, an armoured hand clamping around his mouth before he could protest.

 

Danse leaned out, taking a head count. He mouthed 'eight' at Nate, pressing a clenched first to his chest in the Brotherhood salute. Nate moved the hand over his mouth away, demeanour becoming harsh and serious.

 

Nate crouched low and looked out of cover. Several Brotherhood of Steel soldiers were standing in the square outside Old Church, and they looked to be readying for battle.

 

“We have to warn them.” Nate spoke quietly, surveying the immediate area for any more Brotherhood that might have been near. Rooftops appeared clear, and the distinct thrum of vertibird engines was absent. He could see a handful of shadows that seemed to move, the various lookouts were following protocal and not interfering. He had to wonder why they hadn't sent out a warning.

 

Nate had his pipboy tune to the radio frequencies they used, getting nothing but blank static on all of them. Even the ever present classical music channel was dead.

 

“We are not adequately equipped to handle that many even with the element of surprise.” Danse was calculating odds in his head, taking stock of what they had to fight with.

 

“How good are you at sneaking?” Nate was judging the scenery, a route through mostly out of sight was possible.

 

“Stealth and evasion are not my strongest skills.” Danse motioned to the power armour he was wearing.

 

“Just need to get into the Church unnoticed.”

 

“And how do you propose we're going to do that?” Danse was interrupted by Nate climbing up the back of his armour and wrapping an arm around his neck as if for a piggyback. He was about to question what he was doing when it hit him, that sensation like his eyes were being pushed out of his skull from the inside. He wobbled slightly, steadying himself against the wall with a deep breath.

  
“Move slowly, take breaths evenly to mask the sound, watch your step for anything that might move.”

 

Danse took a tentative step, feeling the field drag and distort against his skin as is struggled to compensate for two people and a full set of armour. Each step was carefully measured, an effort of concentration needed to keep his thoughts in line and to not release all of the pressure in the pistons giving away their location with a loud hiss. He could hear Nates ragged breathing in his ear, and by the time they had reached the door it had turned into the grinding of teeth.

 

He pried open the door slowly, keeping watch on the brotherhood soldiers barely twenty paces away. If Nate hadn’t scrunched his eyes shut he might have recognised the armour markings.

 

The moment they were safely inside the church Nate slid off Danse's back, shuddering as his body wanted to dry heave. He fumbled at the off switch, fingers trembling.  
  
Danse faded into sight, turning to where Nate had fallen. With an audible shift he too returned. For a short time he was just sat on the floor with all colour drained from his face. He fumbled at the various pouches tied to his belt, searching for where he had left the strip of painkillers he had been burning through too fast. He downed two tablets with a sip from his canteen the moment Danse went to check out of the windows.

 

Nate was pulled upright and dragged toward the tunnels. Danse had figured they only had a short time before they completed their field checks and made their assault. He didn't look back, certain they were only a few second behind and not wanting to confirm he was right.

 

Danse spun the locking mechanism, cursing how damned long it took to use. He had genuinly wondered why they had spent so much timer and energy setting up a hidden lock only to make the password 'Railroad'.

 

With a grinding of mechanisms far too loud and far too likely to give away their location the door opened.

 

The lights were down, and there was stood a handful of silhouettes.

 

“Something, lighting freedom!” Nate hit the emergency lighting button next to the door control, flood light sputtering to life.

 

“That's not your passcode. Why didn't you radio ahead?” Desdemona gently rested her hand on Glorys gun, lowering it and signalling her to stand down.

 

“Close enough. No time.” Nate leaned against a wall, rocking himself gently back and forth in time with his breathing. She caught his gaze for a moment, her response to purse her lips in anger. His right eye was bloodshot, the pupil wide enough to hide the iris.

 

“No time?” Desdemona looked to Danse who was checking over his shoulder every few seconds. His symptoms were less severe, more akin to a bad Psycho comedown than whatever Nate was dealing with.

 

“The Brotherhood are here.”

 

There was a moment of calculation as she weighed up their loyalty and came to a decision.

 

“How many?” She nodded to Deacon who scowled and ran back inside to raise the alarm.

 

“A full strike team potentially. I counted eight, one of which was a Paladin. Could be more.” Danse fidgeted nervously, rolling his shoulders as if his power armour itched uncomfortably.

 

“Nathan isn’t fighting fit is he?”

 

“I will be in a moment if you'd just trust me.” The words were practically growled at her. That confirmed her suspicions.

 

“How long did you use it for?” She wished she could be disappointed, but she had expected it to happen eventually.

 

“Too long.” Was Danse's reply. He hated it, knowing he was at least mildly compromised but unable to fix it. Each thought out of turn was so obvious in hindsight and so convincing in the moment.

 

“Damnit. Get him to the main room, we'll hold them off there.”

 

“Chokepoint, good choice. Power armour doesn’t do well in confined spaces. Wide turning circle.” Danse stopped, realising he was repeating the Codex tactical assessment of power armour. He had fallen back on stable, reliable patterns of thought to get him through the trying times. He cursed that awful device aloud and realised a moment later that he hadn’t simply done it in his head. In different circumstances he would be certain he had suffered a concussion. He wondered if he could even aim straight. Nate certainly couldn't, but his aim was hardly phenomenal even sober.

 

Glory charged past them, her massive gun spooled up at her hip.

 

“I'll buy you some time.”

 

There was something in the last look she gave Nate that pierced through the fog and starkly reminded him of that discussion they had on the cost of secrets.

 

Deacon had been quick to push anything he could up against the route in, forming a makeshift barricade. A shelf had been tipped and thrown down the passage. It just needed to slow the enemy down enough to pepper them with fire.

 

Danse pushed Nate into his power armour, throwing the scarf and floral bonnet aside and cursing Deacon for leaving them there.

 

“You can do this Soldier.” He said as it closed over him. At the very least it would keep him safe.

 

“Can you?” The question cut right through Danse's defences. Only a week prior he was a Paladin in the prime of his career, now he was readying to fight against his brothers and sisters in steel for the sake of the synths he had sworn to destroy.

 

“I know where I stand. I trust you, and I’d follow you to the underside of hell if you asked me to.”

 

“You might be about to.” He let out a harsh, cynical laugh made worse by the static wracked comms of his helmet.

 

“Not if any have any say in it.” Danse raised his gun, ready to defend him with his life.

 

“You rarely get a choice in the matter.”

 

The sound of sustained fire and Glory swearing echoed up from the tunnels, followed by the discharge of multiple energy weapons.

 

Desdemona flinched at the sudden silence that followed.

 

Danse took the front most position against the barricade, using his body as a shield. Nate took to his side, creating a fairly sturdy wall for the rest of the Railroad to fire around.

 

The first Brotherhood soldier turned the corner, raising his gun to fire. A click underfoot followed by rapid beeping was the last thing he heard. An explosion rocked the tunnel, followed by Deacon yelling 'Ha!'

 

The narrow tunnel proved to be an advantage just as Danse had predicted, but soon ground down to a stalemate as neither side would budge.

 

Just as Danse was about to give the order to advance something hit the barricade and bounced. He had only a moment to yell 'grenade' and throw everyone backwards.

 

Nate had the same idea as the Brotherhood strike team, his throw not nearly as good but managed to bounce off the wall and around the corner.

 

When Danse came back to his senses he saw Paladin Brandis with an arm around Deacons neck and his gun pressed against his head.

 

Desdemona was on her feet instantly, pistol pointed forward.

 

“I suggest you all drop your weapons and surrender.” Brandis spoke calmly, waiting for his reinforcements to back him up. He had been a breath away from the explosion at the head of the charge, his armour deflecting the bulk of it. His team were not so lucky. After a few moments he realised that his team was not about to back him up.

 

“It doesn’t have to end like this Paladin.” Danse stood up, holding his weapon up in the air.

 

“Danse?” He faltered for only a moment, steadying his arm and pressing the gun against Deacons head even harder. “You will put your weapons down or I will kill...”

 

“Deacon, my names Deacon. Nice to meet you, come here often?” Deacon cut in.

 

Brandis took a step forward with his hostage, stepping over the smoking remains of the barricade.

 

“This doesn’t have to end like this.” Desdemona kept her gun levelled at him.

 

“Just take the shot Des.” Deacon leaned forward so his glasses slipped down his nose, looking at her properly with a uncharacteristically stern expression.

 

Brandis did a headcount, realising that the other one in power armour was unaccounted for.

 

At that moment his suit lost power, the back opening up with an angry grinding of servos and pistons being pulled. A heavy hand grabbed him by the neck of his uniform and slammed him twice into the wall, dropping him to the floor. His head spun as his skull connecting heavily with the ground.

 

A power armoured boot was pressed straight to his sternum, fading into sight as the stealth field collapsed.

 

“Move an inch and I will put my whole weight down on you, and you know damn well that by foot will go clean through you.” Even through the helmet that voice was familiar.

 

“Paladin Nathan?”

 

Nate tossed the fusion core to Deacon who caught it clumsily.

 

“Secure his armour.”

 

“I've always wanted to take a joyride in one of these.” He powered it up and slipped in, moving about clumsily in it. He tried to take a few steps, swaying and teetering dangerously as he did so.

 

“Make any sudden moves and I will kill you.” Nate took a step back, letting Brandis slowly stand. “Hands behind your back.”

 

He did as he was instructed, a set of handcuff placed on him by the Railroad leader.

 

“Are you going to explain why the hell the two of you are here?” Brandis looked to Danse for answers.

 

“No.” Nate took a wobbly few steps to the centre of the room, resting himself against the table.

 

Danse turned to Brandis. He tried to say somthing and found his courage flying before the words could come out. He took a breath and again tried to say something, interrupted by a clang of armour hitting the ground. He thought at first Deacon had tripped over his own feet.

 

He turned, Nate face first on the ground.

 

Danse was at his side immediately, pulling the fusion core out and releasing him. He scooped up his partner carefully, depositing him on the main table. His nose was bleeding heavily, skin sickly pale.

 

“Soldier?”

 

He was twitching as if in the grip of a fever, breaths coming out ragged and laboured.

 

“I knew this was going to happen.” Desdemona looked at Deacon angrily, blaming him for starting him down the path to making the cloaking device. “Get the hell out of that armour. Find Curie. Drummer Boy took her back to wherever the hell she's working out of. I want her here, now.”

 

Danse marched over to Brandis, lifting him upright off the ground where he had been left.

 

“If you have any respect for the life and well-being of Paladin Nathan you will answer me truthfully. Did you inform the Brotherhood of this location?” Danse was right up in his face, this was the first time Brandis had ever seen him act so unrestrained.

 

“No. Our orders were to not make any contact with the Prydwen until the task was complete. Radio silence to maintain secrecy.” He answered truthfully. Danse dropped him back to the floor without ceremony.

 

He ejected from his armour calmly, laying his weapon carefully in a secure case and closing it. He was following the proper protocols for storing armour and firearms to the letter, the pattern and familiarity going a long way to keeping his nerves under his control.

 

Deacon and Desdemona rushed by him carrying Glory, laying her out next to Nathan.

 

Her wounds were severe, Desdemona outright ordering her not to die on them. Stimpaks were being administered, the energy burns that pocked her flesh coated in the salve Curie had made for treating those type of injuries.

 

The former Paladin stood aside and let them work.

 

In those moments he couldn’t help but wonder if his actions had lead to yet another member of Gladius getting killed. Keane, Dawes, Worwick, Brach and now possibly Nathan.

 

Deacon gently took Desdemonas hands away, pulling her into a hug despite his open distaste for personal contact. Desdemona only let out a single pained sound before nothing but clear, calm rage consumed her. Deacon gently closed Glorys eyes and draped a sheet over her, thankful he was wearing sunglasses to hide his eyes.

 

“This has to end.” Desdemona spoke it so quietly but everyone heard. Nobody answered.

 

Danse sat slumped against the wall, looking every bit as lost as he did the night he was supposed to die in listening post bravo.

 

 

 

 


	15. Where is Your Loyalty?

Day 5 since the Incident at Listening Post Bravo.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Curie knelt over Nate, drawing a small torch from her bag and shining it into his eyes, flickering it back and forth with scrutiny. He had been moved to his bed space and kept watch over, showing no sign of waking.

 

“His pupils are not as responsive as they aught to be.” She explained. “But they are responsive, so that likely rules out permanent neurological damage.”

 

It had taken Deacon nearly the whole day to find Curie and bring her back. She had been out tending to a group of Minutemen injured in a trade dispute so was was not at Sanctuary or The Castle.

 

In that time nothing of Nates condition had changed.

 

“Is there nothing you can do?” Danse hadn't left his side for more than a few short minutes, alert and on guard for him the entire time.

 

“I can set up in IV drip of nutrients and Med-X, but beyond that I am powerless. I don’t believe whatever has befallen him is permanent, I think he just needs time to let the damage heal.” Curie lowered her clipboard so Danse could see the tiny scrawled handwritten notes she had made as she had sat and studied his condition.

 

Brandis was tied to a chair across the room, silently watching all of this unfold.

 

He had held great respect for Paladin Nathan since the day he had appeared with news of the Brotherhoods return and rescued him. He had always been a soft touch when dealing with him, though he had never been known as an overly severe officer. It stung to see him in such a dire state, and worse still to see the fallen Paladin at his side grow quiet and introvert.

 

“Thank you for trying.” Danse barely spoke it, his expression perfectly neutral. It was the look he wore getting a report first thing in the morning before he could get a strong cup of coffee and a cold shower.

 

“So what exactly is wrong with the Paladin?” That was the first thing Brandis had spoken all day other than his name, rank and identity number.

 

The Railroad as a whole turned and looked at him.

 

“Acute Stealthboy sickness.” Curie said quietly.

 

Brandis now knew just how he was blindsided, Paladin Nathan's little stunt with the two stealthboys and a full set of power armour was the talk of the ship for days. The man could move silently like no other before him. It was a shame his aim was so awful.

 

“And what's the prognosis?”

 

“Unknown, he was using a modified device that seemed to exacerbate the onset of the negative side effects. I cannot be certain whether this is just a short term trauma or permanent damage he has caused himself.” Curie took out the IV and fed it into Nate's arm. “His exposure was limited, but certainly not the first. I cannot be sure if the effect is cumulative or not without proper study.”

 

Danse watched her hook up the two feeds. There was two black circles tattooed on the crook of his arm that she had used as a guide for where to put the needles. Danse had always wondered about them. Nate had appeared on the Prydwen one day with several patches and bandages that needed changing, all of them for those circles. Whatever he had done was surgical in nature and had Cade disapproving.

 

Seeing it now he could guess their purpose, the nerve endings had been permanently numbed so he couldn’t feel the prick of the needles. There had been times in the field when Danse or Haylen had to fit a drip of Rad-X into him with the threat of violence and court marshal.

 

He was going to wake up very unhappy. He flinched even looking a stimpaks, turning away the rare times he used one. An arm full of drip feeds was not doing to make him pleased.

 

“If it means anything I never intended for him to get hurt.” Brandis took a while to answer Curie, not finding anything adequate to say other than to apologise.

 

“No, you just intended to march into a building full of civilians and gun them all down.” Danse tried not to think how a week ago he would have taken the same order unquestioningly. No command was issued without reason, no sacrifice too great to save humanity from itself.

 

“Maxson's orders.”

 

“To hell with orders, and to hell with Maxson. This isn’t right.” It felt like a weight on of his shoulders he hadn’t realised was there faded as he spoke those words. The moment the words left his mouth he felt a sick twist in his chest, uncertainty where he had been so sure moments before shown and visible on his face.

 

“He's your Elder. Your commanding officer. Where is your loyalty?” Brandis spat the words at him.

 

“He ordered my execution. I was and always had been loyal to the Brotherhood of Steel. I was prepared to take it right to the bitter end, to let my Knight put a bullet in my head for those ideals. I gave my everything to Maxson, and I was repaid by having a person I cared for deeply sent to be my executioner. Don't you dare lecture me on loyalty, I know it far better than you do.” Danse didn’t raise his voice, but he really didn’t have to. Brandis could see the restrained fury behind his eyes.

 

Deacon was about to start applauding when Desdemona gave him the darkest of looks, freezing him in place. He slowly lowered his hands. This was something she was going to need to talk with Nathan about.

 

Brandis snorted through his nose and returned to being silent.

 

“So who wants to get out the jumper cables and thumbscrews, see if we cant get any worthwhile information out of uncanned tincan?” Deacon motioned to Brandis, making clamping motions with his hands.

 

“No.” Danse gave him a withering look. “There are proper codes of conduct. You don’t torture a prisoner of war. Even after what happened he's still my brother in steel.”

 

“I'm with Danse on this.” Desdemona shook her head at Deacon. “We're better than resorting to torture.”

 

Deacon threw his arms up in the air in defeat.

 

“We need to know what he knows, like how he found us. If we have a leak then we need to know.” Deacons word spoke of security but his tone and stance were saying revenge. Glory would have told him to 'sit his ass down and cool his heels' if she had been with them.

 

He stared down Desdemona, backing off a little when she shook her head. He knew her as well as anybody could know the mastermind of a secret network and that was not the sign for 'no'. It was the sign for 'not yet'. Her anger was just beneath the surface, and there was plans being made. Deacon was content enough to see what she was readying when the time came.

 

“What do you suggest we do Paladin? What is your opinion on how we've been compromised?” Desdemona carefully chose her words when addressing Danse.

 

“It is very unlikely to be an infiltrator, I cannot recall a single instance of the Brotherhood using such dishonourable methods. The Codex shows particular scorn for such tactics.” He was watching Brandis the entire time, trying to pick up even the slightest slip that would prove him right. “You are looking for a relatively new recruit who would have reason to sell out the Railroad. We are not above paying informants if they approach us first.”

 

There was the slightest twitch from Brandis, Danse biting back the moment of pride before realising how easily his time amongst spies had rubbed off against him. His honesty was something he kept unsullied, a point of pride that he was trustworthy. It did not sit well what he had caught himself doing.

 

Desdemona watched this with her own moment of pride at how easily Danse had slipped into the right role she had left open for him. Another brief look to one of the present agents hovering nearby was enough to get the order out and agents to begin scattering about the Commonwealth. Old Church was staffed only by those that had been in the organisation for a considerable time or were the liberated themselves, a simple few checks Deacon could run would be enough to rule them all out as a precaution.

 

It was the fallback site for two other safehouses, the rest unaware of its location. Those two safehouses were the most likely to house an informant. Both were under Carringtons jurisdiction, and were proof enough that her preference for careful planning and consideration was always the better choice. He had always insisted on a more aggressive stance, Glory had been passed onto Old Church in the hope it would spur them into more immediate action. Instead it had left Glory frustrated at their softer approach. Deacon and Nate had been glad for her company, the three running missions together when the opportunity presented itself.

 

“Got anything to say for yourself?” Deacon marched up to Brandis and leaned in, hand hovering dangerously close to his sidearm. It would take only four movements to avenge Glory. Draw, release safety, point, squeeze.

 

“Here do we toil, so that we might remember. Here we reclaim what faithless minds have stolen.” With an unflinching look he spoke his litanies through a sneer.

 

“What?” Deacon just blinked in confusion.

 

Danse snorted with irritation.

 

“Its the litany of purpose, you repeat it during trying times. I know it well.” He could recite the whole thing from memory. “You skipped a verse Paladin.”

 

“My hands once were idle.” He continued regardless.

 

“Now through steel do they speak. You skipped two lines there.” Brandis actually flinched. “And when the world shall listen, and when the world shall see, and when the world remembers, that world shall cease to be.” Danse finished the litany for him.

 

“That is really fucking creepy. You know that right?” Deacon just shook his head at both of the Brotherhood soldiers and walked away.

 

Danse returned to Nates side and sat, brushing his dark hair away from his face. Curie was holding up his arm wrist with one hand and a silver pocket watch in the other. She scribbled down his heartrate on her notes, noticing no discernible fluctuation from the previous check. She had a dose of adrenaline at the ready should they need to leave in a hurry. It was a precaution she had picked up since leaving the Vault, the world above left little time for careful recover and far too many dangers that needed the patient awake and able to run fast.

 

She put the pocketwatch awake, gently rested Nates hand on his chest and gently laid her own hand over Danses much bigger one. Nothing was spoken but the gesture of comfort was welcome.

 

He was only unconscious. That was what he told himself. He just needed deep rest to heal the damage and let his neurochemistry balance itself. Curie had been almost certain he was going to be fine. That would have to be certainty enough for him.

 

 

 

 

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Danse awoke with a jump. He was slumped against the wall, neck and spine protesting it equally.

 

With a heartstopping moment he realised Nate wasn’t laid out next to him. There was an IV drip left where he had been, the blankets scattered aside haphazardly.

 

Danse sat upright, panic gripping him. He surveyed the room, trying to make out shapes in the darkness. The unease passed as the familiarity of the place returned.

 

The lights were down, everyone else asleep. In the dark he could see the pinprick flashing green lights that signalled the movement sensors above ground were reporting in all clear. A new precaution, one he thought was vastly overdue.

 

Across the room he could just make out the sickly glow from something, lighting up where Brandis had been tied up.

 

He stood slowly, approaching with the lightest steps he could manage. He could make out a shape wrapped up in a blanket sat on the floor in front of the captured Paladin.

 

They were talking quietly.

 

He walked over, Brandis eyes darting to him as he stepped into the light.

 

“We'll need to pick this back up another time.” Was all he said.

 

Nate sighed, turning around to face Danse. His smile was wide, almost overshadowing just how dark the marks around his eyes were.

 

“Hey.”

 

“Don't 'hey' me soldier, you should be in bed.” Danse had to push down the urge to act the role of commanding officer.

 

“A handsome man inviting me to bed, how could I possibly resist?” The lecherous smirk crept back into his features weaker than it usually would be. Brandis actually rolled his eyes, just like everyone else had at his antics aboard the Prydwen.

 

“You know exactly what I mean.” Danse kept his commanding officer front firmly in place.

 

“I've been out for nearly twenty hours, I think I’ve had enough rest for now.” That grin faltered the moment Danse held up the strip of painkillers he had been taking to treat his symptoms. He pulled the blanket closer and stood, having to push himself up off the ground onto his knees before shakily getting to his feet.

 

“You could have died. We couldn't wake you. You need proper medical care.” He almost said 'I could have lost you' but found it too hard to say. “How long have you been medicating yourself?”

 

“A few days. Just enough to take the edge of the headaches.” He shrugged awkwardly, not meeting Danses accusing look.

 

“If you were suffering headaches perhaps you shouldn’t have been using that device.”

 

“You should take him to the Prydwen, Knight Captain Cade is the best medic in the whole damned Commonwealth.” Brandis looked at Danse.

 

“I respectfully disagree. We have Curie.” Nate brushed off his suggestion.

 

“Has Curie looked over you yet since you woke up?” Danse looked over to where Curie had been curled up, noting her absence.

 

“Not yet. She looked like she'd had a long day.”

 

“I strongly suggest you get that done now.”

 

“I concur with Monsieur Danse.” Curie took Danse by surprise. She had been leaning against the table barely a pace and a half away, lingering just past the lights edge. Her time associating with the Railroad was starting to show itself, even in her casual movements.

 

She drew a small penlight from a pocket, twisting the end until it was at its most dazzling setting. She flickered it over Nates eyes, checking his pupils for proper response times. Nate flinched away from it, the light painful and leaving streaked after images of green and red.

 

“Your reactions are better, but still not good. Are you feeling anything out of the ordinary?” She let Nate bat the light away, knowing there was no malice in his action.

 

“Eyesight is blurred, I have a blindspot in the corner of my right eye and the mother of all hangovers.”

 

She dutifully took notes, shaking her head slightly as his lax attitude to such a serious situation.

 

“I need to do a few cognition tests. Can you say apple?”

 

“Really?” Both eyebrows were raised, though it was noticed that one seemed a little slower to rise.

 

“You could have caused yourself permanent neurological damage. We don't know yet if you have.” Curie looked at him sternly, but the tug of a smile at her lips told him that he was mostly in the clear.

 

“I'm fine Curie. Really. Its going away, I couldn’t even see out of my right eye an hour ago. I'm through the worst of it.”

 

“Humour me, please. Can you say apple?”

 

“Fine. Pomme.” He was being deliberately obtuse, testing even Curies saintly patience.

 

“Close enough.” She had not expected him to say apple in french, but that was a good enough test. If he could remember a lesson from several months ago he hadn’t really been paying attention to at the time then the damage was unlikely to be too severe.

 

“I'm okay.” He assured her again, seeing the the distinct pursed lips and narrowed eyes she wore when worried.

 

“I really hope you are right. That thing is too dangerous to use again, promise me you won't.” Curie looked at him with those wide, doeful eyes.

 

“No promise Curie.” He shook his head, a warm smile put up to help her concern. “So how is Glory?”

 

There was a wall of blank faces. Danse looked away, not meeting his eyes. Curie was very intently looking over the clipboard of notes she had brought over. Even Brandis kept his steely silence.

 

“Oh.” Nate swallowed heavily. Nate opened his mouth to say something and nearly choked on the words, drawing a deep breath through his nose and releasing it as a heavy sigh instead.

 

“The stealth device. Lower the field intensity, have it oscillate between ten and thirty five percent.” Brandis spoke, drawing everyone’s attention. “You also need to tie the intensity to size, let it expand and contract.”

 

“How do you know that?”

 

“During the war with the Enclave there was this soldier that served under Sarah Lyons. He showed up one day at the Citadel with a set of stealth armour from before the great war, like nothing i'd ever seen before or since. I got the chance to study it before they disappeared. We never managed to actually replicate it though. If you're trying to run it at full power but in a much tighter area you'll be getting ten times the maximum safe dose.”

 

“I remember them. The Vault Dweller, reckless maniac. They tried to ride Liberty Prime into battle.” Danse shook his head. He had escorted them on a mission once just before his promotion to Paladin. He could remember Lyons giving them far too much freedom from the rules and far too little scorn.

 

“A man after my own heart.” Nate chuckled dryly, no real tone or emotion behind it. He was staring off away, too wrapped up in his own thoughts to pay too much attention.

 

“I think you would have gotten along well.” Danse chose to not take offence, a slight unfamiliar twitch of jealousy flaring up. “So why are you helping us?”

 

“I'm not helping you. I'm helping Paladin Nathan, I have a debt to repay.” Brandis leaned back against the chair, shifting until the ropes and handcuffs were at least less uncomfortable.

 

“Thank you.” Nate patted him on the shoulder.

 

They left Brandis alone after that with his thoughts, returning to their beds.

 

The traitorous Paladin had given him a lot to think about with their little talk, before Danse had interrupted them.

 

Nate was helped by Danse to returned to his bed, finding his sense of balance had fled faster than it had when drinking Lancer strength moonshine.

 

Danse had intended to sit and keep vigil until Nate had patted the space next to him, the look pleading.

 

Nate curled up, head resting against his chest. Danse wrapped an arm around him hoping it was the right thing to do, just stroking up and down his back until his breathing was even and shallow, soon to sleep. It took far longer than usual, Nate unable to voice exactly how he was feeling. He had said nothing.

 

These were the times Glory would slap a gun in his hand and tell him to go take it out on a training target. Or a raider.

 

All he could think of was how right she had been. Perhaps about everything.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The litany was something I could not resist using. Its an edited version of Miraaks litany from Dragonborn, Danse and Miraak are both voiced by the same actor.  
> Next chapter is a short interlude, then a jump over the three days Curie has Nate resting at HQ doing little. Interlude is edited and ready to go, so will likely be put up fairly soon. The next proper chapter is going through the last few edits and will not be more than a few days at most, hopefully.


	16. Intermission: You can't run forever

One month prior to the incident at Listening Post Bravo

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Nate paced back and forth across the Mess hall, his bowl cradled in one hand as he gestured in the air with his fork to get the rest of the teams attention. He swallowed the bite he was chewing and pointed at the river on the map, suggesting there could be a pipe connecting to the chemical tanks inside.

 

Rhys confirmed from the scouting report he had open in front of him that there wasn't.

 

Danse had intended to only give them an outline of the mission during lunch. Somehow they had gotten out all of the relevant reports and maps, going over the operation and reviewing how they were to approach it. Food had been partially swept aside, every few minutes they would remember it and start eating only to be drawn back into work.

 

Nate had his bowl up in his hands, his space now covered with charts and maps. Only the barest edge of his mess tray visible beneath it all.

 

Turrets adorned the roof and were evenly spaced around the perimeter, initial scouting actions had reported that there were even defences hidden by modified stealthboy fields. Nate was very interested in getting ahold of some of them, Deacon specifically had asked about bringing a few stealthboys back to HQ for some reason.

 

Concealed mines covered most approaches, the gaps in them suspiciously coincided with the overlapping firing zones of the turrets.

 

Rhys looked over the annotated map from the last fly over, the vertibird coming under considerable fire and returning with a lot of holes to be patched up.

 

“Are we certain this is just a bunch of malfunctioning Mr Handys behind this?” To his eyes the design was inspired, the obvious route around the defences was likely a trap and the other approach a death sentence to anybody not in full power armour.

 

“I've seen this before a few times.” Nate thought aloud idly, taking a chunk of something out from the noodle broth and dropping it onto his mess tray. He suspected it was a chunk of the nutrient paste they were cutting the mess hall rations with to make them last longer. The noodles themselves were not the best, their colour slightly pink and taste a little bitter. Egg was an expensive luxury and in short supply so the Brotherhood used an artificial protein they could cook up in large batches fairly easily.

 

“From raiders I could accept it. Just takes one of them to get hopped up on mentats and you get this kind of well thought out layout. From a machine though? No.” Rhys was waiting to find out who was really behind this, the man behind the robots holding the factory.

 

“Two centuries is a lot of time for rampancy to happen?” Nate suggested it to the group, Rhys and Haylen giving him a matching look of questioning. “Rampancy. Rhys I can understand, but you Haylen? You didn’t read it?”

 

“Read what?” Haylen looked to Danse, who had evidently understood what the word meant in the context.

 

“Proctor Quinlan requested a copy of 'Dynamics of AI' be brought from the Citadel. It was on the advised reading list for all field teams that might encounter Synths.” Danse frowned lightly, returning his gaze to the scouting report in the hope that some insight might appear that had eluded him the first three times reading it.

 

Danse had read the book first when it made the rounds between the Paladins, Nate had acquired it somewhere else down the line when it was passed down to the Knights. The Field Scribes were supposed to have gotten it by now.

 

“Could you give us the abridged version?” Rhys looked to Nate, his eyes narrowed with irritation.

 

“It feels strange to be the one in the right for once.” His grin was wide and smug, a brief shooting glare from Danse putting his attention back on the mission. “AI with sufficient hardware capacity to expand their programming into sometimes start to evolve once the behaviour protocals break down. Most robots malfunction or go crazy when it happens. Go rampant, thus the name. A very small number make it to the last stage, metastable. Means we're dealing with intelligence, not programming.”

 

“Sounds like a load of crap if you ask me.” Rhys sneered at him. “Machines don’t evolve. They are the way we make them, they either work as intended or break down.”

 

“The Enclave had an AI that evolved that way, it was coordinating their efforts during our war with them.” Danse had been amongst the team that had scoured the wreckage of the Enclave base for any trace of the abominable thing. The soldier that had dealt with Eden had been more than thorough in dealing with it. And the surrounding facility.

 

“I've encountered a few robots who've developed personalities over the last two hundred years.” Nate looked at Rhys, making a dismissive motion with his fork.

 

“They are still just machines, inferior in all ways.” Rhys snorted. There was flicker of a smile in Nate's expression at that.

 

“Remind me to introduce you to Kleo sometime and repeat that to her.” His grin was interrupted by a sharp look from Danse. He had evidently read the tactical assessment of Goodneighbour.

 

A scribe briskly entered the mess hall and handed Danse a folded piece of paper, saluted and left swiftly with a second cursory salute. The Paladin opened it, reading it with a slight scowl.

 

“We deploy in one hour. We'll have the support of two other teams. Winter Team is our sniper support, Companion Team is taking vanguard. We're following Companion once they've secured the entrance.”

  
“We were supposed to be handling this ourselves.” Rhys looked down at all the planning they had done, his tone clipped and annoyed.

  
  
“I wouldn't turn down the extra support.” Haylen motioned to the large number of defences they were supposed to be overcoming.

  
  
“Seconded.” Nate agreed with Haylen, thinking for a moment before adding “With three teams how badly could it go?”

 

 

 

 

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The vertibird rotors were barely a dull roar behind the metallic ringing that hadn’t ceased since the explosion. Nate looked up from his hands and the blood coating them. His gloves were slick with it, still wet and fresh. He'd left a handprint on the side of the aircraft as he climbed in.

 

Danse said something to him. He tried to read his lips and couldn’t make out what he was saying. It was repeated to no avail, the Paladin growing irate at not being answered.

  
  
The vertibird landed a little too fast, the docking clamps scraping against the hull.

  
Triage teams were already assembled and ready.

 

Rhys was taken first, the medics checking he was properly strapped to his stretcher.

  
One of the medic scribes hoisted himself up into the craft and tried to tend to the deep cut running diagonally from Danse's brow. He batted their hand away, snappily telling them to go tend to someone else. The medic handed him a wet compress soaked in sterile alcohol and told him to press it to the wound before moving on.

 

Haylen was sitting in a bloodstained undershirt having discarded most of her upper uniform. She was carefully cleaning the pocked wounds to her forearms and left side. When the medic approached and tried to ask her a question she made a gesture, sweeping her cupped hand over her ear raising two fingers and pointing to herself and then Knight Nathan. Their was a nod of understanding.

 

Danse dropped from the vertibird and was gone, it was clear to anybody present he was not wanting to be followed.

 

The medic handed Haylen two stimpaks, repeating the cupped ear motion with another sign. A clenched fist and the pushing down of the thumb.

 

Nates eyes instantly narrowed, he knew the handsign for injection. Before he could escape the craft she had already caught his wrist in a vice like grip. The look of sheer panic crossed his face, and before he could make a move to escape she had pulled the sterile cap off with her teeth and pushed it into the soft juncture between jawbone and neck. His swearing could probably be heard from Command.

 

She took her own medicine and applied it to the same place, her own reaction barely a wince. It only took a few seconds for the dull ringing to lessen and the furthest most edge of hearing to return.

 

Knight Nathan was staring into oblivion, looking like he was trying to stop himself from throwing up. Haylen had tried to be mercifully quick.

 

With a gentle nudge she brought him back to reality. He gave her a harsh look, softening somewhat when she mouthed 'sorry' to him. He just shook his head, rubbing the back of his jaw and trying not to shudder.

 

She made a motion for drink, getting nod in return. She was not looking forward to giving him the second of the required doses.

 

The pair of them made their way to the mess hall, sitting in silence waiting for news on Rhys. Nate sat with a dark expression, drawing small ammo tins filled with snack cakes from his pouches. Haylen scowled, knowing those were strictly for their intended use. Danse would have been livid at it.

 

Nate just stuffed his mouth full of cake, his look challenging Haylen to make it an issue. She chose not too, knowing he was not thinking straight. Once the shock wore off all the way he would probably be quite apologetic.

 

He had at least cleaned his hands with a spare rag, he had been so diligently removing the blood he was certain if Danse had been present he would have made a smart remark and called him Lady Macbeth. The thought almost cheered him up.

 

They could both hear something, familiar but far away. It was only after a few seconds did they recognise the voice. Danse was shouting at somebody, likely at the Knight that had been leading Winter Team. Their actions had been reckless, Gladius suffering the bulk of their mistakes.

 

A few moments later he stormed through the mess hall, his steps heavy enough that the floor vibrated.

 

There was an attempt at a smile from Nate, met with only a harsh reprimand he couldn’t quite hear and the Paladin charging away to find where Companion Team had hidden from his wrath. Nate tried not to look hurt. Haylen pitied him, knowing exactly why Danses anger could cut through him so easily.

 

Haylen took out one of her notepads and scribbled 'we need to talk somewhere, privately' on it, sliding it over to him.

 

His brow crinkled as he read it, looking to her in a questioning way.

 

There was a frustrated shrug and a mouthed 'fine' as he stood, the chair screeching against the floor in a way that would have been ear splitting if anyone present could hear.

 

He followed Haylen down below deck to where the spare parts for the vertibirds were kept in stencil marked steel crates, sitting on one that she motioned to. He sat with his arms folded waiting to see what she dragged him away from witnesses to say.

 

She approached slowly, putting one hand on his shoulder and mouthed the words 'this has to stop' to him. He turned away ashamed, not meeting her intense stare. That was a mistake and gave her the opportunity to give him the second dose of Stimpak she had clasped in her hand since leaving Mess, waiting for the moment to strike.

 

She darted back swiftly as he called her a choice selection of unpleasant things. She ignored them all, tending to her own medicine with considerably more grace than he was showing.

 

Sound returned to them, starting with the omnipresent roar of the engines and quickly approaching normality. All that remained was a high pitched whine that would take several days to fade.

 

“That was uncalled for.” Nate finally spoke, all colour drained from his face and a look of nausea firmly planted.

 

“We weren’t going to get much talking done otherwise.” She put the plastic cap back on the empty stimpaks and dropped them into a belt mounted pouch. They would be sterilised and reused at a later date.

 

“You dragged me down here, speak.” He was evidently in a less forgiving mood after two surprise injections.

 

“You know exactly what I’m going to say, you can't run from this. Not forever.”

 

“Rhys is upstairs on deaths doorstep and you're giving me grief over...” There was a moment of exasperation as he tried to summarise exactly what it was. “...this?”

 

“Your feelings for Danse, yes.” She wasn’t in the mood to dance around the subject, this had been far too long unsaid. “Now is exactly the time to deal with this. I know what you are going through, and I can tell you now that it can and will effect your judgement on the battlefield.”

 

“You know me better than that, I’m not one to get my lives crossed over.” He blankly dismissed her.

 

“I know you perfectly. It's only a matter of time before you make a bad call. You saw what one mistake caused, all because the leaders of Companion and Winter teams had been inappropriately entangled.” It was a badly kept secret that the two Knight Captains had been sneaking away late at night. That was going to have to stop.

 

“This is a little hypocritical coming from you.” He hadn’t meant it to be so biting and regretted it almost instantly when he saw Haylen stand tall with a look of fire in her eyes.

 

“My issues with Knight Rhys are settled. We spoke about it like adults and put it to rest. You need to do the same. How can Danse trust you if you are lying to him?”

 

“I'm not lying to him.”

 

“A lie by omission is still a lie. He is going to be hurt that you kept this a secret for so long. We are Brotherhood of Steel, we don’t keep things from our brothers and sisters. It never ends well.” There was a moment where Nate could see Danse and his teachings reflecting brightly in her.

 

“I'll consider what...” He was interrupted by the Prydwen announcement system buzzing to life.

 

“Knight Nathan and Scribe Haylen of Gladius team please report to Medical.”

 

Nate was up from his crate and gone before Haylen could press him farther. She caught up to him at a sprint, reminding him that the conversation was only over for the immediate future.

 

Rhys was alive, awake and talking by days end. Danse was stood in the corner of Cades medical room as resolute and still as a statue, remaining in place to watch over his fallen teammate. He had fresh orders from Maxson temporarily putting them all on leave for a month, to be recalled when needed.

 

It was no surprise to Haylen that Knight Nathan packed his bags and fled, leaving contact details that a courier could use to get a message to him. He had at least had the courtesy to give Rhys a whole day of being pleasant to him even if it was through gritted teeth.

 

As long as he wasn’t around to put them at risk with foolish decisions she was happy to not pursue it. He would return eventually, and there would be time later to put things right.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who thought they posted this chapter several days ago and hadn't thought to check?


	17. No Brotherhood, No Minutemen, No Railroad

Day 9 since the Incident at Listening Post Bravo.

 

 

 

There was a sound of frustration from the workbench as Nate picked at what was probably the fifth laser rifle he had repaired in three days. He removed a chipped lens using a set of tiny callipers and dropped it aside, throwing his hands up in the air and accepting defeat.

 

Curie wandered over to his location with her penlight ready, Nate short on patience. She had insisted on checking him over at least twice an hour, and that had become irritating before even the first day had fallen. She had yet to be able to take blood, he had gotten ahold of a stealthboy and managed to evade a building full of operatives for nearly an hour. Deacon had figured out he was sitting in the middle of the planning table watching Curie and her needles like a hawk. No other attempt had been made.

 

Desdemona was wishing they could ship him to Goodneighbour with the rest of her agents, there was only so far she was willing to entertain his antics when the situation was so dire. Nate had refused to leave Brandis behind, and Brandis was not to be let anywhere near the new safehouse they had negotiated with Mayor Hancock for. Quietly she was happy with that arrangement but voiced the opposite, Nate and Danse both had never had their loyalty to the Brotherhood and the Railroad tested against each other. She could not trust the outcome to chance.

 

Deacon and Drummer Boy were supposed to be transferring sensitive documents to the new safehouse. Drummer did it dutifully, Deacon had somehow delegated the bulk of the work to three other agents and spent the free time sticking around Old Church. He called it laziness, Desdemona was certain somewhere under it all was some genuine concern.

 

What couldn't be moved had been burnt. If HQ had been compromised they needed to minimise the risks whilst keeping up the appearance of normality. Brandis silence on the topic had been irritating for all of them, the only proof of his word was that another attack had yet to arrive.

 

Only Nate had been able to get more than a handful of words from him. Danse had tried and each time it had gotten strange and awkward for both of them. Too much guilt on both sides.

 

Nate had made certain he was comfortable, keeping watch over him once during the time he was free from his bonds. Deacon had made those arrangements, much to Brandis and Danses dismay. He had vanished off to meet a contact, returning a few hundred caps lighter and strutting into the meeting room spinning a metal collar proudly on his fingertip.

 

It was lost on almost none of them how much it went against their principles, only Deacon seemed happy with the idea of using a modified slave control collar to keep Brandis from escaping. They were all certain it was only because he had some kind of kill switch on his person at all times. There was matching collar paired with it that Deacon had given to Desdemona as a precaution.

 

Together they had worked on the Chameleon armour in short bursts, Brandis supervising from his chair and Nate swearing at the soldering iron repeatedly. Curie had insisted he not spend too much time working and forced him to take long resting periods.

 

With his frustration getting the better of him Nate woke Brandis up from his nap with a sharp nudge and asked for his help. The laser rifle had defeated him and now he wanted to resume work on the Chameleon armour. The older Paladin grumbled a bit before telling him which wire to connect to which socket.

 

There was only a few small parts left and when it was done Nate screwed the casing shut again, checked the emitter coils for any damage and started strapping himself in. He had closed all the velcro fastenings and almost fitted the power cell when Danse physically snatched it from him, Deacon diving it to catch it when Danse threw it away from Nates grasping hands, and Curie storming over to tell him off. Desdemona was once again reminded that these were amongst her best agents and wishing for the long gone days when she could expect a degree of maturity and responsibility.

 

It descended into a petty argument between them all as Nate protested their interference and they all stood as a resolute wall against him.

 

Danse, Curie and Deacon eventually all reluctantly agreed to give it a momentary test just to prove it worked and silence the protests. Danse did it to make Nate stop insisting he use it on himself, Curie wanted first hand experience so she could write and research the effects more accurately and Deacon really just wanted to be invisible without the reliance on a ever dwindling supply of stealthboys.

 

Curie had been studying everything they had on stealthboy sickness, trying to find common ground with any number of old world conditions and hopefully a treatment. She had been delving into thicker and stranger medical tomes looking for her answers. Her current theory was that it caused disruption between processing of the senses and the formation of short term memories, thus the feeling of dislocation and forgetfulness. It was likely effecting other areas of the brain, paranoia pointing to any number of other effects.

 

Oddly enough Danse and Curie were the least effected by it only having momentary discomfort, Deacon held under it effects for almost a minute before hitting the off switch when he felt the first hammerblow of pain blooming inside his skull. He reported when prodded about it that it felt like the lighter end of bad stealthboy sickness, where the last time he had been exposed it felt considerably worse. Curie dutifully scribbled it all down.

 

Curie vowed to find a bigger sample size to test on, wondering if perhaps something in synth biology was resistant to it. Coursers had stealth devices built into their bodies so it was not a stretch of reasoning to assume synths had been engineered with a resistance to the long term side effects. Danse still lowered his head when he was referred to as a synth. Curie had expressed an interest in performing an autopsy on a courser if the chance ever presented itself, for the advancement of their scientific understanding of cloaking technology. The Railroad as a whole shut that idea down.

 

Deacon groaned and grumbled irritably after his turn until Curie give him a painkiller, something fizzy and unpleasant tasting that was dissolved in water. He choked it down pulling a sour face.

 

He was about to make a witty comment when the sound of the secret wall sliding back cut him off.

 

He scrambled for his gun and was at Desdemonas heels before it had even opened, Danse and Nate grabbing the first fusion cores they could off the shelf and climbing into their power armour hoping to catch up.

 

“Freedom is only a matter of time!” was the yelled call. Nate recognised it as Preston’s personal passcode. They had agreed he was only to come to Railroad HQ if the situation was desperate.

 

Desdemona swept into the room a few moments later with Preston Garvey a half pace behind her, looking ragged and battle worn. His expression grew warm and glad upon seeing Nate but instantly snapped bolt straight upon seeing Danse, flicking the safety off and raising his laser musket enough to snap fire it if he needed to.

 

“Paladin?” His whole body was tensed as if he was going to dive for cover.

 

“Garvey?” Danse saluted tensely out of respect, noting the tears in his clothing and blood staining his coat. There was too much for it to be his.

 

Nate stepped forward to address him. There was a look shared between General and his Second in Command.

 

“Long story, for another time. What's going on?” Nate gave a small shake of his head, putting himself just slightly between them.

 

“General. I've got wounded settlers and Minutemen, lots of them. We've got stretchers full of them heading here.” He hadn’t once taken his eyes off the Paladin.

 

“Here? Is that wise given the proximity to HQ?” Danse raised an eyebrow, choosing not to address the obvious tension.

 

“We have an arrangement.” Desdemona was not always happy with the arrangement but its benefits outweighed the risks. The Minutemen would sometimes use the church above as a meeting point and forward base, the Institute and Brotherhood alike marking it down as a Minutemen territory. A few Minutemen rallying there raised no suspicions, borrowed uniforms and false markings covered a lot of Railroad activity.

 

Only a Preston and Sturges knew about the Railroad base underneath.

 

Prestons coat had a burn through the edge of it, wide and heavy, charring an area around it. Danse took notice of it. It ruled out a gen-2 synth attack, their weapons were a narrower beam and caused less thermal damage.

 

“Raiders?” There was a cold, creeping sensation telling Danse exactly what he was about to hear.

 

“It was the Brotherhood of Steel. They showed up at Bunker Hill and announced it was under their control. They didn’t like being told otherwise.” He explained, ready at a moments notice to respond if Danse raised his own weapon. “They've got road blocks and cordons around the whole area.”

 

Curie gathered her medicines and tools with a muttering of french, rushing up to meet the injured.

 

“You didn’t get a name did you? Who was leading the team?” Danse could see the weariness at his presence and the hesitation to answer his question.

 

“Didn’t get a name. Really pale, spoke little, had a lot of knives on his armour, squad marking was a red handprint.”

 

“Knight-Captain Lachance.” Danse snorted. He was typically sent on the kind of mission where they needed to leave only smoking ruins.

 

“Did he have any other red markings?” Nate asked, slipping out of his armour.

 

“Red stripe on the left shoulder, they all did.” This at least partially confirmed what Nate suspected. “We've had problems with the Brotherhood at others settlements, the ones with that mark are the worst offenders.”

 

“This sounds like standard procedure when there’s a protracted fight coming. Secure ground, establish a fiefdom to keep supplies flowing, suppress any resistance.” The former Paladin could see the discomfort his words were causing.

 

“Hey, what's a few civilian losses in the grand scheme of things?” Deacon gave a bitter, sarcastic laugh. “Cant make an omelette without killing a few dozen unarmed civilians.”

 

“Enough.” Nate cut off the argument before it could start.

 

“Fine. Hey tincan, you know field triage?” Deacon tapped Danse's armour, reminding him he was still in it. He disengaged it, realising it might not be the best idea to go give medical attention to civilians dressed as a Brotherhood soldier.

 

“Covered in basic training to an adequate degree.”

 

“Good to hear.” Deacon grabbed medical supplies and something from a shelf dumping an armful of med-x and stimpaks into Danse's waiting hands.. There was a deep breath as he latched the other half of the slave collar set shut around his own neck.

 

“What about him?” Danse motioned toward Brandis who was scowling at the entire situation.

 

“I'm guessing that field training goes for you too Grandpa Tincan. You're coming up to help, put some work into undoing the hurt your boys caused.”

 

“What makes you think I'll help you?”

 

Deacon tapped his own slaver collar with his middle finger, knocking the sensor slightly and making the linked one Brandis was wearing beep once in warning. Three beeps was all it would take.

 

“You know what this does. If you take more than ten paces from me, or my heart stop beating for any reason you pop like an overripe mutfruit.” Deacon had that faint jackals smirk on his face but even with glasses on it could be seen that it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

 

He had not once said anything taunting to Danse in days, directing the entirety of his sarcasm and scorn at Brandis. Danse was unsure if he should accept it as a genuine sign of comradeship, putting on a unified face in front of the enemy, or some other inscrutable product of Deacons thought process. Nate had suggested with a knowing grin that all were possible, even the conflicting parts, especially the conflicting parts.

 

Deacon undid the handcuffs, taking a step back as Brandis carefully stood.

 

“Might give you some perspective to see the people you're hurting from the something other than the sights of a gun.” Deacon raised his sunglasses higher up his nose, not wanting his eyes to betray his calm.

 

“I serve the Brotherhood to help people. We're not the badguys.”

 

“Could have fooled me.”

 

Nate noticed the device, watching the little exchange between them. He made a mental note to ask Deacon about it later. With a spare moment he took a strip of tablets from his pocket, popping five from the foil and swallowing them with a shudder. Curie was insisting he take them every few hours. She had confiscated his painkillers and told him outright not to use them again.

 

“I’m still not seeing a reason to help you.”

 

“You'll help because Nate's the only reason you're not at the bottom of the harbour right now and he would be very disappointed in me if I went back on my word not to kill you.” Deacon lowered his sunglasses just long enough for the murder in his eyes to be visible. “And I have a terrible habit of disappointing people that put faith in me.”

 

 

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

 

 

The situation had been considerably worse than expected.

 

The church was packed to capacity, pews acting as makeshift beds and more injured arriving with every minute.

 

Curie had stood amidst it all taken a single deep breath and brought every medic within hearing range under her command. Danse had to wonder if the Brotherhood could profit from her expertise as she brought order and stability to the chaos, traige teams formed and given tasks under her guidance. She herself was a blur of scalpels and sutures, stabilising the worst injured before rushing to the next. She was not happy with the conditions, at the barest minimum it needed a good scrub and an air filter to be sterile but she made do with what she had.

 

They used moonshine as a makeshift sterile alcohol, Curie brewing up a mixture of various herbs and medicinals to sooth the pain of the worst injured. The scent of it in the air was heavy and cloying, the sterile bite of the alcohol mixed with the rich, earthy, almost incense like herbs she was using. Shirts were torn to make bandages, electrical wiring as tourniquets.

 

Danse and Deacon did what they could to help. Deacon had to assure people that Brandis wasn’t Brotherhood, it was just a stolen uniform. A Brotherhood soldier 'wouldn’t have been helping them, the Brotherhood only cared about their own.'

 

Both Danse and Brandis tried not to let it show but it struck a nerve hearing so many people agree, calling the Brotherhood little better than raiders.

 

Brandis had been somewhat modest in the assessment of his own skills and got quickly to work helping Curie with the worst of the injured. He was almost as quick as Curie if less skilled, a few times getting an admonition for wrapping bandages too tightly. He had been trained to be certain the bandages didn’t slip in a combat situation, she had been programmed to serve in a hospital where combat was hopefully very far away.

 

Several of the settlers had splints made from duct tape and piping. Nate guessed it was Sturges work.

 

Danse crossed the room, dropping off the wrap of strong smelling medicinal herbs where he had been ordered to and jogged up to Nate, tapping him hard against his shoulder and snapping him back to reality.

 

Nate had been stood in the far end of the room, lost in memory for long enough that Danse could see it.

 

There was something barely familiar about it all. He could recall a similar church full of wounded, there was more soldiers then all so stern fronted and angry. There was a feeling like he had been in power armour, and had a weapon held loose at his side. It was winter. It was probably when he had been stationed in Canada during the insurrections. He hated it then and he hated it now. That part was clear and easy to recall. Almost everything else from that deployment was gone.

 

The sharp shock was enough. He took Danses hand momentarily and gave him a weak, reassuring smile.

 

What Danse didn’t realise until much later when Nate explained what he had remembered was that this was the second time Nates faith in the Brotherhood had been almost irreversibly damaged.

 

The Minutemen had been Nathans project, his cause before the Brotherhood and continued to be to the day. Now he was watching the people he had brought together riddled with bullet holes put in them by the Brotherhood he had served so dutifully.

 

Nate was lost in it all and Danse couldn’t see how to help. He never liked seeing any of his team hurt, physically or emotionally.

 

There was a cold certainty as the former Paladin looked over everything that he would have been quite fine with this situation from the other side. He would have justified it to himself, written the Minutemen off as a necessary sacrifice in the battle against the Institute and the war to save humanity from itself. He would have written a narrative about how they had stood in their way, that they were the enemy to be brushed aside and meant nothing.

 

From the outside looking in he suddenly understood just why the Brotherhood were so feared even if their purpose was good. Standing helpless in a room full of the injured and dying he couldn’t look upon it and justify it.

 

He hadn't been an idealist when he had joined but back then Cutler had enough for two with spare. They wanted to better their own lives and help others. His younger self would have been ashamed just how far he had strayed from that. Cutler would have hated it.

 

It was only a matter of time before they had to cut Brandis loose or he escaped of his own volition. He would go straight to Maxson with everything he had learnt. There was no path through that didn’t involve betrayal, either they killed a defenceless Brother or they let him announce what side they were really on. Either way Nate's time in the Brotherhood was likely over.

 

The day wore on, fading into evening, darkness finally setting in as the last of the work was done.

 

Desdemona had pulled her scarf up over her head, keeping to the side and checking in with a certain few who had been brought from Bunker Hill. The small Railroad outpost hidden there had been successfully evacuated, a handful of recently liberated synths now sat around the planning table in the catacombs below and being offered snack cakes and tea by the agent unlucky enough to have had them dropped into their care.

 

Danse watched from a distance as Preston and another Minuteman he didn’t recognise had some kind of quiet argument. His best guess was that this other person was the Minutmen engineer and mechanic; he was broad of arm and shoulder enough to work with heavy equipment, his overalls grease stained and ragged. Nate had idly mentioned them a few times, oddly quiet about them when asked.

 

Preston kept calm throughout, the mechanic was more animate and less composed. Nate said something that seemed to get Prestons agreement but not the other one. With a nod he left them alone, Danse wondering just what was being said.

 

The mechanic looked over toward Danse, turning back to Nate and spoke something harsh. Nate took a deep breath and uttered something short that made him stop in his tracks, anger draining from his face and swapping with confusion.

 

He looked over again, nodded with a little more understanding and put a hand on his shoulder. Whatever was said next just made Nate shrug. After a moment of silence the mechanic followed Preston.

 

Danse continued doing his rounds with Curie, bringing her what she needed when asked until he made it to where Nate was sitting.

 

He was quietly comforting a young Minuteman that Curie had stopped working on some time ago. He had been given a very heavy dose of Med-X that she had quietly admitted 'would be enough to see him out in peace' with a heavy heart.

 

“Hey kid, how are you doing?” Danse stooped low, putting himself where the Minuteman could see him without moving his head. He had done this a few times before and knew how to put on a brave face for the passing.

 

He glanced to the chalk scribbling on the floor next to him. In the absence of whiteboards or paper all of this medical notes had been marked onto the ground. The medical shorthand was a different derivative than Haylen used but it was close enough to guess. 'ETD1900' stuck out to him. Expected time of death.

 

“Crappy. You're Danse right. Heard the General and the Preston talking about you before. Paladin. Wouldn't expect you here with what happened.”

 

“I'm not with the Brotherhood anymore.” Danse smiled thinly but it didn’t reach his eyes.

 

“Too good for them. The General really looks up to you. Even Garvey thinks your an alright guy for Brotherhood.” The kid smiled, the Med-X making him hazy and loose lipped.

 

“That nice of them to say about me. I don't know if I deserve it though. I didn’t catch your name.” Danse already knew it, it was written down next to him.

 

“Shawn.”

 

There was the slightest shift in Nate, an odd twitch that ran up his neck and stopped at his eyebrow.

 

“Well Shawn, you should get some rest. You look like you need it.”

 

“Yeah, I think I should.”

 

“You did the Minutemen proud today.”

 

“I hope so.” He chuckled slightly before slipping into a heavy sleep, his breathing laboured and awkward from the piercing energy wound through his side.

 

For several minutes they just sat next to him, both lost in thought.

 

Danse wanted to ask just what had been said in his absence as it was clearly about him, but chose not to press it just yet. There would be time later.

 

Brandis had observed the whole thing from nearby, quietly contemplating his own role in what had happened.

 

Deacon had kept a close eye on him the entire time and was making certain his constant presence was noticed by the older Paladin. He was currently talking with the Minuteman always at Prestons side. He had seen them assembling makeshift medical tools for Curie earlier, throwing together some kind of medical distilling device from a bunson burner, duct tape and piping.

 

The Paladin watched as he kept glancing between Paladins Nathan and Danse whenever their backs were turned, expression worried.

 

Nate approached where the Railroad inner circle had gathered to talk with the Minutemen. Desdemona was stood where a priest ought to, looking ready top give a speech.

 

“What are we going to do?” Nate finally spoke, his voice faint and strained from the exertion of the day. Everyone present heard it but nobody answered. Curie had just came to check on the injured Minuteman, noticing his laboured breathing had stilled. He was covered by a sheet, the chalk marks brushed away.

 

“The Brotherhood have overstepped their bounds. First they attacked us, now they're playing at conquest like they're the Caesars fucking Legion.” Deacon looked sidelong at Brandis who actually had the decency to look ashamed. “Its time we take the fight to them.”

 

Desdemona gave a cough and prepared to speak.

 

“They've made it clear to us today. The Brotherhood of Steel is our enemy, there is no possibility of peace after this.” Her voice carried clear, agents and Minutemen drawn to her announcement. “We move against them before its too late.”

 

“The Minutemen are in, whatever you're planning.” Preston tried not to see the betrayed look from the General.

 

“No.” Nate was stood tall now. “I will not answer one massacre with another.”

 

The Railroad leader was uncertain whether to take the obvious challenge he had presented to her. He had blocked the plan to attack the first time around.

 

“First they send a team to kill us, then they attack civilian settlements. They killed Glory. What will it take to convince you that they are our enemy? How many of us need to die? Curie? Deacon? Me? You need to put aside your loyalty to the Brotherhood for the greater good.”

 

Danse took to Nates side, together defiant. They both stood tall, backs straight, features carefully schooled and controlled. It was clear to all present that they were Brotherhood.

 

“I will not betray my brothers and sisters in steel, even to help my own kind.” Danse didn’t like the look of calculation in Desdemonas eyes. Nate took his hand and held it, silently telling him exactly where he stood. The only sign of acknowledgement he got in return was the momentary squeeze before he let go, not a flicker of change present on either of their faces.

 

“Agreed.” Nate sounded different to Desdemonas ears, wondering if this was the near mythical professionalism he was supposed to possess finally showing itself. He was stood identically to Danse, feet the same space apart, shoulders squared, head held high. It was well practiced.

 

“What do you propose then?” There was a moment of silence as no answer was forthcoming to her question. “All you have is a half formed plan to assassinate the Elder that you have refused to go through with.”

 

Danse shot him a look that almost pierced right through his defences.

 

“Explain, quickly.” He kept his officers tone, adding a careful measure of threat to it.

 

“A contingency only, if the Brotherhood had to be neutralised it needed to be done in the least damaging way. I made it clear the Brotherhood was not to be harmed unless it was the only choice.” Nate could recognise Desdemona trying to put a wedge between them, keeping his composure and trusting Danse to do the same.

 

He nodded shortly and turned back to Desdemona.

 

“We are out of choices, so make your decision. Are you with us?”

 

Nate gave Deacon a pointed look, asking for help and getting a shrug in response.

 

“Sorry man, Des' is right on the money with this one. With us or against us?”

 

Preston didn’t even meet his eye contact, firmly on the Railroads side.

 

Nate snorted with irritation.

 

Danse thought to himself for a moment, taking a step forward.

 

“There's another option, but it isn’t without risks. The Litany of Succession.”

 

“For those of us who aren't Brotherhood?” Deacon just raised an eyebrow.

 

“An Elder may be challenged and replaced, either in combat or by agreement. You simply need a single sponsor to your claim.” Danse shifted uneasily, his movements easier to read without the layer of armour.

 

Deacon and Nate shared a knowing look that didn’t go unnoticed by Desdemona.

 

“But?”

 

“We're on the brink of war. A challenge could fracture the Brotherhood, assuming one of us manages to take the rank of Elder. Weakening our unity could give the Institute exactly what it needs to defeat us. It could also start a civil war that would spill out into the Commonwealth.”

 

Desdemona thought for a moment. Nate had already been working on a way to remove the Elder and galvanise the fraction of the Brotherhood that still supported Danse to their cause. A direct challenge cut out some of the uncertainty.

 

If Nate and Danse wanted to throw their own lives into the flames it was not her problem in the end. There was nothing stopping them from moving forward with their own plans at a later date if they failed. His cooperation was still needed in the fight against the Institute, at least in the short term.

 

“Fine. I can agree to that plan. We'll do it your way for now.” She nodded curtly.

 

“It won't work.” Nate took a deep breath, his eyes still narrowed and angry. “We already considered that possibility some time ago. Maxson won't relinquish power willingly and we have no way of getting a trial by combat without carving a path through our brothers and sisters. Too many good people would die just because they were following orders. I won't do it.”

 

It didn’t go unnoticed that he had said 'we already considered it' rather than 'I already considered it' and his obvious co-conspirator was pulling his glasses over his eyes and keeping a very blank expression.

 

“You knew about this?” The former Paladin looked at Deacon calmly.

 

“It was all hypothetical. All I did was lay the groundwork.” He shrugged in response.

 

“Speaking of that, when are you going to tell me about the extra work you had PAM doing?” Nate looked right through him, the military front dropped and that worrying far away smile he was all too familiar with taking its place. Deacon thought with that there was always something dangerous bubbling away under the surface, enough that he would have made a good raider if only his heart wasn’t so good. Good was possibly overstating it he had come to realise.

 

“You knew about that?”

 

“Already read the results.” Nate hadn’t been pleased with it initially. PAM had presented her findings to him, telling him outright that Deacon had requested it not be told to him. Her calculations had determined that going against that directive was the better long term choice. Nate had dismissed her findings altogether and put her back on what he had originally requested, a solution to the Brotherhood problem that didn’t put them at risk. It was a careful balancing act of factors, one of which he could not agree to then.

 

“And?”

 

“Yes. I'm not happy with it but I accept.” Nate took a steadying breath before agreeing.

 

Desdemona leaned back against the wall, fully expecting to be filled in on this at the first available moment. She was starting to notice a trend of her inner agents going behind her back and it greatly displeased her.

 

“Is someone going to tell me just what is going on?” Danse had an undisguised look of irritation, annoyed that he had been left out of what was being planned.

 

Nate made a snap judgement. Danse didn’t need to know the whole truth. He wouldn’t like the whole truth.

 

“The supply shortage.” Nate had that look about him like he was throwing himself head first into a nest of raiders, that driven madness he had thought somewhat tamed by Brotherhood discipline. “We tip it over the edge into a full crisis, bleed the Brotherhood dry. If they’re trying to claim territory then they're already desperate. Weaken them, cut off their support, gather anybody who will listen to reason and then we make our challenge. And nobody dies.”

 

Danse felt the need to recoil at the words. He was suggesting a coup.

 

“Will it work?” He didn’t want to hold out hope if the chances were slim.

 

“You still have support onboard the Prydwen. It was Brandis that made me realise it. We can get you back where you belong, they are still your people even with what has happened. We just need to rally enough support inside and out.”

 

“Who are you suggesting?” Desdemona coughed to draw attention back to herself, seeing Nate disapearing into his own plans and forgetting the world around himself. “we dont particularly keep many allies we can call on, present company excluded.”

 

“Everyone. We need them all. The Minutemen, the ghouls, liberated Synths, displaced settlers and anyone else who will stand with us and we make it clear to the Brotherhood that Maxsons leadership has lead to this. The enemy at the gates, no food on the table and no bullets for their guns. We already have a lot of potential support on the inside, its just a matter of showing them which side is the winning one.”

 

The results of PAM's calculation burned in his mind, possibilities and contingencies laid out for him. The Brotherhood needed to be taught how easily power could be taken, rocked to its foundation if Maxson was to be deposed.

 

“I think you've actually gone mad.” Danse spoke with a calm that belied just how anxious it all made him, the words finally sunk into his head and the implication spreading out into his future plans. Somhow the whole situation had spiralled out of his control, worse than it had already. It would have been no comfort to know that Nate felt the same way. “This all happened because of me. It feels like you are doing this for me.”

 

“Not just for you. Even if I wasn’t stupidly in love with you I wouldn’t stand for this.” Nate stopped for a moment wondering why Danse was giving him such an intense look, releasing with a startle just what the heat of the moment and righteous fury had made him admit.

 

“Love? Are you saying you're in love with me?” Danse watched as Nate looked ready to flee, steadied himself and accepted that he had said it.

 

Even with what Desdemona had said to him he still doubted it, the words strange to hear.

 

“Of course I am you dense tincan.” Nate just looked at him, the smile on his face somewhere between timid and relieved.

 

“I didn’t want to presume. I know how terrifying it can be to be close to someone, knowing what might happens to them. It isnt an easy thing to admit given how unpredictable our lives can be.”

 

“You’re babbling tincan, try takin' your foot out of your mouth and kissing him.” Deacon leaned forward, giving Danse a brief shove forward as he did so. He stumbled so close he could feel Nate's breath on his neck.

 

Danse instantly felt very small and very exposed, struggling to find anything to say. Nate fared little better under all the attention. Afterwards Danse was unsure who had acted first, had Nate stood on the tips of his toes to reach or had he leaned down first.

 

It only lasted a moment, to Nate it felt fleeting and to Danse it felt like minutes had flashed by.

 

Nate noted that Danse lips were still chapped, now with the slightest hint of bitter cherry and sugar from the Nuka he drank.

 

Danse in return had gotten the faintest taste of artificial blueberry and sickly additives. He hadn’t expected anything different.

 

“I'm yours, Soldier.” Danse said the words into Nate's hair as the shorter one buried his head into his broad chest and huffed contentedly. He hadn’t realised he had put his arms around him until Nate gently pushed back, asking for his freedom.

 

That arrogant smirk came back for the briefest moment looking very much the mischievous Knight that had served under him again before doubt overtook it.

 

“I need time to think.” Nate stood up tall, slung the first weapon he could lay his hands on over his shoulder and exited out the church doors. Danse decided to give him a little time before following.

 

They would need to have a serious talk very soon. Danse had come to realise with a cold, certain acceptance that his lofty ideals were slipping. He had already fallen from grace, a few more compromises to his integrity were nothing he couldn’t bear for the greater good.

 

Nate needed some time with no Brotherhood, no Minutemen, no Railroad. He needed some advice from a good friend and neutral party. Danse did too, but he had nobody left to turn to.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took a long time for several reasons. The first is there was a sudden resurgence in my gaming group that sucked up all my free time. The second is I have never been happy with this chapter and it went through so many edits back and forth until it reached it current state. The third is my reluctance to work on this chapter meant that I instead did the editing on a later handful of chapters including the ending.
> 
> I'm probably going to come back to this one and trim it down, it feels bloated at 6000 words.
> 
> This is the point where the canon divergence really starts to show its face. The Battle of Bunker Hill has become The Taking/Conquest of Bunker Hill depending on which side you look at it from. The Minutemen have thrown their lot in with The Railroad but Rockets Red Glare and With Our Powers Combined are both off the table. All of the end game scenarios are happening along side each other.


	18. The Underside of Hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I considered putting this chapter in multiple places. It was originally the second half of chapter ten, but I replaced that with Haylen returning to the Prydwen. I put it much later on but couldn't find a place I liked it. At one point it was going to be where it should be if I was sensible and had everything in chronological order. That didn't work so it returned here. This chapter is the last of the day 19 skip aheads.

Day  19 since the Incident at Listening Post Bravo.

 

 

 

Nate had practically watched Haylen like a hawk as she left Goodneighbour. He could tell she had partially seen through him, but he hoped he had done enough to convince her. He didn’t want her to get hurt in what was coming, but he needed someone who knew the proper protocols on the inside at the right moment. If all went to plan she would be exactly where the danger was not.

 

Danse was away with Deacon, as he had arranged ahead. It hadn’t been easy to get those two working together without them realising he was involved. The only small mercy was that they seemed to be getting along now after the incident with the Brotherhood informant. His shoulder still hurt from it. He was quite certain he had flipped head over heels from the impact. He could recall being barged into, then seeing the ceiling for an instant, then the floor, then the feeling of the floor against his shoulder and everything hurting.

 

Whilst Haylen got to return to the Prydwen, and Deacon and Danse likely out searching for working radio parts he was casting himself into the underside of hell. He had already resigned himself to this task and the betrayal he was about to commit.

 

He braced himself for it, remembering his mission. The Railroad and the Minutemen couldn’t give him what he needed, leaving only one real alternative. If the Institute refused his offer everything he had planned would fall apart around him.

 

That blinding light and feeling of dislocation wrenched at his stomach, made all the worse by the sudden lungful of cold, sterile air.

 

The dirty alleyway was replaced with clean white walls and the soft mechanical beeping of omnipresent machinery.

 

“Welcome back.” X6-88 was always there waiting for him; back straight, arms folded neatly behind him, uniform immaculate and crisp. “You have almost missed the designated appointment time. The Director was prepared to send a recovery team to secure you if you failed to show up.”

 

“I would appreciate it if you wouldn't do that. I have certain public appearances to upkeep and a team of coursers snatching me might put a dent in my reputation.”

 

“Understandable.” The courser paused briefly. “May I ask why you are here? Just to mark down in our records.” The unspoken words there was Justin Ayo wanted to know and had not been informed.

 

“I need my meeting with Shaun to be somewhat private, I have sensitive matters to discuss with him.” Nate looked at him expectantly. “I suspect he's already aware of my presence, hopefully there's a gap in his busy schedule for family.”

 

“Understood. He asked that you wait in the main atrium.”

 

Nate took off toward the elevator, X6-88 walking a single step behind him at all times. He took it down into the main room, taking a seat overlooking the cascading falls.

 

He was given a wide berth, a mix of morbid curiosity and fear of the surface dweller keeping them at a distance but still close enough to observe. He stuck out painfully, muddied boots and dust coated leather a stark contrast to white plastic and obsessive cleanliness. He could already smell the harsh chlorinated cleaner they used, likely sterilising every place he had walked or every wall he dared to lay his filthy surface tainted hands on. X6 had told him that the quarters the Director had set aside for them were routinely decontaminated after the few times he had used them. They were also probably bugged with all manner of listening and recording devices.

 

A synth approached, offering him a glass of ice water. He accepted with a polite smile and was handed two, both packed with heavy ice cubes and a single decorative slice of lemon. Nate was certain he had heard lemons were extinct now, puzzling over it and wondering if it was cloned or engineered from something else.

 

Shaun sat down next to him, gently taking the spare from him and having a sip.

 

“That would be for me. I thought it best to show you proper hospitality, you are a welcome guest in my home.” The Director gave the most cursory of smiles in greeting.

 

“Its good to see you.” Nate smiled back at him thinly.

 

“And you. But I suspect this isn't a social call. I suggest you speak quickly, I had to postpone a very important meeting and have less time than I would like.”

 

“I need something from the Institute.”

 

“I'm not in the habit of just giving away Institute resources, I need proof you intend to pursue our goals. Thus far you have been less than cooperative” Shaun spoke bluntly.

 

“I don’t agree with some of what you do and some of your methods, But the Brotherhood has gone too far. They're killing civilians and stealing food from the starving. I know they're also disrupting your work, so I’ll say this plainly; Give me a way to control Liberty Prime and I’ll deliver the destruction of The Prydwen.”

 

The Director paused a moment as if calculating this against plans already in motion.

 

“You intend to destroy the Brotherhood of Steel? I was under the impression you were a rather loyal Paladin of their order.” The way he said 'paladin' had more than a little undisguised disdain.

 

“I was. Things have changed.” Nate swallowed, his expression growing cold.

 

“Would this have something to do with M7-97 by any chance?” The Director fixed him with a piercing gaze. He hated that those eyes were the same sharp blue that greeted him in the mirror.

 

“That was the other thing I was going to ask. I know this goes against your protocols but I would like all traces of him erased from your systems.”

 

“I am not oblivious to the reason. I cannot say I approve, or respect the decision.” He paused for a moment to think. “Given the circumstances and certain tragedies in your past I will do as you ask. I will however entrust you with a backup of the override codes, if only as a precaution. I already had the order for coursers to retrieve him delayed.”

 

“Thank you.” Nate put his hand on Shauns shoulder in what he hoped was a fatherly way, getting only a raised eyebrow of irritation in return. He withdrew it quickly.

 

“I consider the continued absence of a single rogue synth a more than equitable trade for the destruction of the Brotherhood of Steel. How have you managed to convince 'Danse' to turn against their previous loyalties?”

 

“I haven’t. He isn’t aware what I’m planning but its only a matter of time before he discovers. I've got the Minutemen and Railroad working together to fight the Brotherhood. Once the Brotherhood is dealt with they plan to strike here. I don't want that. I just...” He took a breath and then a sip of his water to stall for another few seconds and then continued “...I don’t want to lose you again.”

 

“Why the sudden change of heart?” The Director studied him carefully, trying to figure exactly what each little telling movement meant. It was disconcerting for Nate.

 

“I'm selfish enough to admit I’m doing this mostly for myself. The Railroad sees me as a liability, and I found out recently that their leader has been plotting against me. Its only a matter of time before I have an 'accident' and they can paint me as a martyr to the cause. On top of that The Brotherhood will probably kill me once they realise I betrayed them, and the Minutemen are too fractured to help me assuming they don’t throw me under a bus to cover their own ass. The Institute is my only choice. Help me save Danse and I’ll give you whatever you want.” Nate had that dangerous fire behind his eyes. “The only obstacle is Liberty Prime, something I hope you can help me with.”

 

“How are you intending to do it? Deal with the Railroad and Minutemen?” If the Director was in any way moved by the speech he made no indication.

 

“They're all working against each other. I gave them all orders that, assuming no complications, will cripple all three in a single strike. A good portion of the Railroad and Minutemen leadership are going to be right in the line of fire when we take down the Brotherhood, all three will burn and I’ll be almost solely in command of what remains. It'll be a tragedy nobody could have seen coming, and I’ll be on the front line far from blame.”

 

There was a moment of thought from the Director.

 

“I'm not above accepting a good cause pursued for the wrong reasons. I only hope you will allow the Institute to be a part of your life once the dust has settled. I can see a lot of planning has gone into this, but I'm afraid our time is up. I shall have what you need brought to you promptly.”

 

“Don't you need time to figure out how to solve Prime first?”

 

“We already have a perfectly functional way to control it, we just lacked a delivery method until now. M7-97s codes will be brought to you soon, the virus will take a few hours to run final checks on so I suggest you keep your earpiece in rather than buried where we cannot see it. We will make arrangements for its delivery as soon as possible. If you'll excuse me I am now shockingly late.” That quietly confirmed that they were tracking his movements, and proving him right to have the earpiece sealed in a lead container. Shaun stood briskly, brushed a handprint shaped mark off his shoulder and turned to head to the directorate meeting.

 

“I have one final question, and its important.” Nate caught his wrist, stopping him from leaving.

 

“Speak quickly, this is borrowed time.” Shaun scowled at him, pulling his wrist free.

 

“If I use Danse's override codes can I make him forget everything that’s going to happen and make it so he'll stay with me without erasing who he is?” Nate looked at the Director, who stopped to think for a moment and ignored the pleading expression.

 

“Yes, but those edits are only meant to be a short term solution. Eventually the changes will begin to revert. You simply need to articulate what you wish to change as a command, the internal processes will do the rest for you. Be very specific when you do.”

 

“Could we do more? Remove the Brotherhood influence permanently and have him believe he is my bodyguard? Even part of the courser program?” The look in his eyes was conflicted, enough the Director could pick up upon it.

 

“That would require a more extensive reprogramming. If that it what you want I will make the necessary arrangements, but only after you fulfil your end of the bargain. No more questions, I now have to apologise to the heads of department for my lateness. A good evening to you father.”

 

The Director left at an even pace, leaving his father to sit and think alone.

 

Nate was left feeling cold after the conversation, not liking how short on patience Shaun had been toward him. The faint yellowing at the corners of his eyes and the way his skin seemed almost transparent did not bode well for his health. Nate had seen the cocktail of medicines he was taking, fed straight into his blood for thick glass containers. He had been on borrowed time for far longer than either of them liked.

 

He sipped at the glass of water, his throat feeling very dry.

 

Just as he finished the glass a gen-2 synth approached him with two holodisks. One was marked 'Liberty Prime' the other 'M7-97'.

 

He inserted the Liberty Prime tape into his pip-boy and studied its contents. It contained instructions on how to insert the virus, and what codewords it would respond to. It was devilishly simple in function; it erased the list of officers authorised to give commands and replaced it with anybody able to say the proper password in its presence. It would only accept vocal command passed through an authorised pipboys transmitter thereafter, all other orders would be ignored. It also contained a small security program that primed the pipboy to safely store the virus without negative effects.

 

He inserted the other tape and opened its contents. He read the first line, forced himself to stop and ejected it. He had seen the first words of Danse's shut down command and didn’t want that kind of knowledge is his head unless he desperately needed it. He had liked the colour orange. Orange was the colour of the jumpsuit Danse wore around The Prydwen, Nate slyly liking how it was tight enough to spark the imagination while leaving it enough space to roam and dream. Now orange would just be Danse slumped over, a lifetime of experience and personality washed away in an instant. His pipboy contained a copy of the code, Nate carefully burying it in a file deep down in the operating system where nobody would think to look.

 

He stood, the little plastic tape in his hand to his mind felt like a hot coal he wanted to drop.

 

“One to relay out, usual arrival site.” He tapped the earpiece and spoke, then took a deep breath waiting for the moment. Danse's last remaining record held in a grip so tight it strained his knuckles white. In those last few moments he looked up at X6-88, still stood vigilant over him. That was another loose end to be tied up.

 

With a crackle of energy he was above ground again.

 

He exhaled hard to get the taste out of his mouth and took a heavy breath in, the air filling his lungs feeling real after all the artificiality.

 

He snapped the holodisk in half, the tangled knot in his chest uncoiling as one more threat to his Paladin was dealt with. He took a roll of duct tape out of his pack, tapped a grenade to the halves it and threw it as far as he could. Ducking behind cover he counted down the fuse, the explosion so much more satisfying than it aught to be. Now he only needed to be certain the Brotherhood didn’t possess it too.

 

He could hear Danse berating him for 'a purposeless act of destruction' in his head. When all was done there would be a lot more destruction left in his wake.

 

Nate smiled to himself knowing he was no one step closer to his goal.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the month gap between chapters. I had a few real life things to deal with, and when time was free for me to work on this there was a large chunk that needed completely rewriting rather than just editing. This chapter, the next, and most of the one after are edited and somewhat ready. I should be keeping to a decent release time again. 
> 
> Some of you may be thinking 'what the hell?!' after this chapter. Or possibly something more vulgar. Everything is going according to plan, within an acceptable margin or error. If you have any questions I'd be happy to answer, so long as it isn't spoilers.


	19. Hell to Pay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a degree of sexual content in it. I did rate it M for a reason. If for any reason you don't want to read something hinting at those sorts of activities then when you encounter the word 'Flexible' do a page search for 'from his right' and continue from there.

Day  9 since the Incident at Listening Post Bravo.

 

 

 

 

Danse would have been impressed with the Railroads agents if there were not more pressing matters taking his concern. His helmet comms were tuned to their frequencies, picking up warnings of a 'lone Brotherhood operative' every time he passed one of the hidden lookouts. He had yet to actually spot a single one of them, but he dutifully informed each of them that he was listening and that he was codename 'Liberty' under Desdemona. After several awkward conversations the news must have gotten around through private channels because he was given sporadic confirmations from them as he passed, and on one occasion told which route to take to avoid raider activity.

 

Goodnbeighbour was the first place he tried, Deacon suggesting none to subtly that Nate retreated there fairly often. The officer in Danse wanted to be annoyed at that, there was protocols in place for dealing with that settlement that Nate seemed to wilfully ignore.

 

He had gotten back into his power armour, helmet included and made his way there a little over an hour after Nate had slipped away. It had taken only that long for his concern to build up to breaking point, Curie outright dismissing him from her service with a calm assurance that one of the others could take his place. It was the dark haired mechanic that had taken his place as the medics assistant, Curie spraying him with sterile alcohol and berating him for the dirt under his nails and oil stains all the way up to his elbows. Nate had showed up for duty several times covered in the same mechanical oil sporadically over the last few months.

 

Danse had offered Sturges a clean washcloth and noticed how he wouldn’t make eye contact, strange enough without the fact he had been watching him when he thought Danse wasn’t looking in his direction. He had gotten quite good at using his peripheral vision to spot when people where trying to watch him, though in the case of Knight Nathan doing it he hadn’t quite realised why until far too late. The apprehension was enough that he was almost certain Nate had told him something he perhaps shouldn’t have.

 

He hadn’t been too happy having to leave Brandis behind. Deacon had been oddly quiet for the most part and that never boded well, even in Danses limited exposure and experience with the spy. He wouldn’t voice it aloud but there was a distinct possibility that Brandis would have an 'accident' in their absence.

 

Brandis had at least been left in Desdemonas care, and this went a little way to alleviate his fears. She had thus far been starkly honest with him and to his eyes what passed itself off as honourable amongst the Railroad.

 

He had chosen not to interrupt or eavesdrop on them, announcing his exit only with a note on the chalkboard under 'Liberty' explaining his absence. He couldn’t see Brandis face, but he could see the sharp expression Desdemona wore across from him and recalled all too clearly that look from his own interrogation that first night at HQ.

 

Brandis had been offered a seat at the table and a cup of strong coffee, agents arrayed in all the alcoves just on his peripheral vision. Danse hadn’t realised how well rehearsed it all was until he was standing on the other side of it looking in.

 

As he approached the Goodneighbour gates he could see the snipers up in the windows following his approach, likely having radio'd his arrival ahead. Nobody had been quite certain when Goodneighbour had upped its security, it was a gradual thing that only presented itself when viewed from afar. It had given Maxson a moment of pause that his intelligence operations had missed it. He would have been considerably less pleased that it had been a careful, concerted effort by both the Railroad and the Minutemen with both being prodded on by Nate.

 

Just as Danse had been expecting when he opened the doors to the town there stood the Ghoul and his entourage.

 

Danse removed his helmet slowly, keeping his hands where the terrifying woman at Hancocks side could see them at all times. There was several guards in fairly mismatched armour, the only unified part of their design was the badly painted stars and stripes worn around the upper arm or shoulder.

 

He raised his hands, showing that his weapon was safely magnetised to the backplate of his armour and out of immediate reach.

 

“Oh. Its you Crewcut.” The mayor drawled dramatically, half a grin splitting his face. “What brings everyone’s favourite tin can to this little hole of vice and debauchery?”

 

There was a short moment where Danse had to suppress the urge to snarl at or recoil from the abominable thing smiling like a jackal at him..

 

“I'm looking for Knight Nathan.” Danse kept his tone clipped and avoided making any remarks at the ghoul. It had not passed unrealised how hypocritical it would be to look down on the ghoul when the Mayor had at least been human at one point in his life. He took a small measure of comfort in the fact he could still dislike Hancock on a personal level.

 

“Sunshine isn't taking guests right now. And your people aren't exactly high on the list of his priorities. If he wasn't so attached to you I’d gladly have Fahrenheit here drop you in a shallow grave for what happened today.” Hancock was expecting a sharp remark back, a witty retort already ready to fire, and was caught a little off guard when none was forthcoming.

 

“I need to see him.”

 

“Not catching my meaning? No Brotherhood allowed.” Hancock idly raised his hand, two fingers pointed to the sky. With a single flicking gesture he could order what would likely a dazzling display of firepower down on him.

 

The was a pause as Danse swallowed heavily.

 

“I'm not Brotherhood anymore.”

 

Hancock seemed to consider this, a look of idle calculation crossing his face that was mostly for the theatrics of it all and to drag out Danse's discomfort just a little longer.

 

“Well ain’t that something. Still can't let you see him.” There was a long, drawn out shrug and a hint of satisfaction at the frustration clearly showing on Danse's face.

 

“Why not?”

 

“Kid looks like death. And that’s pretty grand coming coming from me.” Hancock gestured widely toward his leathery face. “Whatever's gone on in the last few days has ran his batteries dry. The pretty little hoverdoc has him taking enough chems to make me say too far, and that an acomplishment in and off itself. So nobody gets to dump their problems on him until I give the say so. Bed rest, and that's the doctors orders.”

 

Danse had been concerned with just how many different medicines Curie had him taking. He knew the treatment for stealthboy related ailments was a slow and often unrelaible thing, each patient manifesting different symptons and needing different care. He was somewhat frustrated that there was little he could do to help, and deeply frustrated that Knight Nathan had refused to give up on the prototype stealth armour even when it was clearly doing him harm.

 

“I need to see him.” He said it again with more force this time.

 

“He needs a break. There's a lot of stuff rattling about in that head of his, and trust me that stuff gets awfully loud if you don't have a way to shut it up.” The ever present knowing smile faded for just a brief second, a little of his real age and wisdom shining through before being snuffed out again.

 

“Hancock.” The Ghoul and the Paladin both turned to Nathan, resting idly against the wall and evidently had been there for at least a few moments. “I appreciate the thought but I don't need you playing receptionist for me.”

 

There was a bottle of quantum dangling between his fingers half drank, Danse irritated at it when curie had repeatedly insisted he cut his caffeine and radiation exposure down to the strictest minimum for a few days.

 

“Soldier?” If Danse had still been in command he would have dragged Nate back to the Prydwen in a heartbeat and put him on immediate medical suspension. Out of anything armoured or resembling a uniform the exhaustion was showing itself clear to see.

 

Hancock's concern had been more than justified, though neither Brotherhood Paladin would admit it out loud.

 

“I'm fine Tincan. Just tired.” The smile he gave him was faint but genuine.

 

Danse almost fumbled the eject command from his armour, made an effort to ignore the paranoid prickle of danger he felt being so exposed and strode up to Nate.

 

He stood bolt straight, arms firmly at his sides readying that well practiced speech about how he had compromised his health and tactical efficiency when Nate silenced it all by putting his hand on his shoulder, running it down his arm and leaving a trail of faint tingles. He smiled as if trying reassure them he wasn't in as bad of a condition as he looked.

 

“The truth.” The way Danse said it made Nate still briefly, his smile deflating.

 

“Headaches. Pain. Its getting better.”

 

“Do I have to take you back to Curie?”

 

“Please, no.”

 

“I'm your commanding officer and I have a duty of care for my team. I want you to be fighting fit.” He had tried to say 'i care for your wellbeing' and without realsing defaulted to his command voice. Nate understood anyway.

 

“I'm going to be okay.” He still had Danse's hand, threading their fingers together and moving closer to him in slight steps.

 

Hancock and Fahrenheit had backed away, confused at first and quickly understanding the situation. It was the Mayor that decided to interrupt with a very loud cough, snapping the pair out of their bubble.

 

“Not wanting to interrupt what is clearly a tender moment developing but you two have planted yourself and your armour on my doorstep.” The Ghoul was grinning ear to ear like a skinless jackal at the way Danse jolted bolt straight.

 

“Sorry.” Nate buried his head in Danses shoulder to hide his face, making Danses embarrassment even greater.

 

“Alright lovebirds, I’m happy to have you here but can we move this somewhere a bit nicer. Its all dusty and cold out, and knowing Sunshine here you'll end up rolling about in it. Wouldn't want to see that again. Or maybe I would, but not right now.” There was something mischievous behind the mayors dark eyes. Danse couldn’t help but wonder if there was a story behind that strange comment. Nate just kept his head buried into Danse chest, very pointedly avoiding explaining it.

 

He would never admit that Hancock had caught him unaware, with his pants down, on a night some months ago. There had been a crisis, made all the worse by the unfortunate truth about Shaun. There had been a maddened dash across the commonwealth from doctor to doctor, even breaking a list of protocols as long as his arm to smuggle a civilian aboard the Prydwen so Cade could look them over. It all culminated in an argument in the alley behind the memory den that had lead to something frustrated and intimate. He had been close enough to take the edge off of the feelings; dark haired, gruff voiced, built like a bruiser was how he had been described when they first met. He close enough to Danse and they both understood that.

 

What neither of them had expected was the sudden round of applaud from Hancock and the suggestion that he would pay for a room at the Rexford if the pair needed it rather than having to wander in on them 'making a mess' on his streets. Somehow Preston had found out some time later, giving all involved a disappointed talking to. Nate was glad Danse had never found out, he could already hear the 'fraternizing with a civilian in a public through-way is not how you represent the Brotherhood' and then a list of all the codes of conduct he had violated.

 

“Thank you for looking after Knight Nathan in my brief absence.” Danse didn’t make eye contact with Hancock, not realising he sounded like Rhys when he was forced to make an apology.

 

The mayor shrugged, figuring it was the closest to positive progress he was likely to get from the fallen paladin.

 

“It was my pleasure Tincan. Me and Sunshine still have a lot to discus, but it looks like the wayward boyfriend has shown up and cut our coffee date a little short.” He was grinning now.

 

Danse couldn’t help but feel strange hearing himself referred to as 'boyfriend' to anyone. The word bounced around his head a few times before he could shake it free. It didn’t sound right to his ears.

 

Nate took Danse hand and lead him toward the Third Rail. He was determined to have one night where there was none of the looming danger that seemed determined to hover just on the horizon.

 

 

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

 

 

 

There was a crowd around the planning table, an emergency meeting called the moment Danse had been confirmed to have arrived at Goodneighbour and would not be returning any time soon. That insured that Charmer would be kept distracted for long enough for her to work without his scrutiny. He needed to be kept far from what she was planning.

 

Drummer Boy had packed a handful of stealthboys and headed to both of Carringtons safehouses to spread the word. Representatives from all of the other cells had appeared over the last hour, including Carrington himself. He had swept in with a handful others, quietly pleased that they were finally making a move after months of passive resistance. Desdemona had to stifle the smile knowing that he was going to be brought back down to earth very quickly. She respected him, and he respected her, but they were not above a little professional pettiness when it was appropriate.

 

Deacon slid past Curie, his lighter rescued from her back pocket with a quick movement he thought had been missed. She moved with the kind of hair-trigger reflexes he had only seen from Glory and caught his hand, snatching it back. He tried vainly to grab it back, losing it as she flicked her wrist and threw it across the table. Drummer Boy snapped it out of the air without looking and put it down to his left in front of Brandis. He picked it up, turned it over once and a moment later it was taken from his hand by Desdemona who lit her own cigarette with it, snapping it closed with a sharp click of finality and slid it back across the table to Curie.

 

Deacon retreated, Curie sat smug and sure that she had saved Deacons lungs for another day, Desdemona ignored the look Carrington gave her at the ongoing fiasco that was her pool of operatives, and Brandis despaired that this was who he was having to put his trust and possibly the Brotherhoods future into the hands of.

 

There was quiet chattering amongst the representatives that fell silent in an instant the moment Desdemona raised her head to speak.

 

“You all know exactly why you are here and what I am about to say so let me skip the small talk and get to the point. We are at war, and we have a plan.” There was a moment of silence.

 

“And this couldn't be delivered to us by courier? I'm certain you have several you trust for such a task.” Carrington had a frown across his brow, lessened by the knowledge that there was progress being made.

 

Drummer let a very slight smile cross his face.

 

“Two birds, one stone. I couldn’t trust this information to the usual channels for reasons you will all be greatly concerned with. Paladin, care to explain?” She gently nodded to Brandis who had spent almost the entire meeting so far trapped in his own thoughts and second guessing his choice. With a sharp intake of breath and a steady release he made his decision considerably more permanent.

 

“There is a Brotherhood informant in your ranks. I don’t know who they are, only that they provide us information by pre arranged dead drops. That was how we managed to locate this base of operations.” Brandis took another breath, realsing how awfully easily it had been to fall. The Brotherhood had gone too far, far enough that even Danse who could easily be described as 'blindly loyal' had been given a moment of pause. Helping the Railroad stop the Brotherhood in a bloodless way was not salving his conscience as much as he had hoped it would. He quietly told himself there would be time later to put it right, once he was back with the Brotherhood.

 

“How compromised are our operations?”

 

“Its isolated to a handful of safehouses. Compartmentalisation doing exactly what its meant to.” Desdemona couldn’t help but feel a moment of pride at the dark look Carrington gave her. He had always hated that word. She was well aware of this and dropped into briefings as often as possible. “The important part is that we stay below the Brotherhood radar for as long as possible. We work towards our objectives quietly, need to know basis only.”

 

“How are we going to flush out the informant?” The representative from Taffington safehouse raised her hand enthusiastically.

 

“We won't have to.” Desdemona nodded to Brandis again.

 

“The Brotherhood has little trust for unvetted civilians. We set up cameras at the dead drop, and I would assume we have a clear photo since there is an ongoing operation to locate this person of interest.” Brandis swallowed heavily, taking a sip of the water he had been provided. “One of the Railroads infiltrators managed to recover a bulk of the data regarding ongoing and planned operations, including the photographs. Only problem is that they are encrypted.” His voice was clear and level, well practiced from years of debriefings. Desdemona smoothly cut in.

 

“Which is where you all come into the plan. I'm calling an open season on Brotherhood encryption keys, but this needs to be handled without calling too much attention to it. If our informant has realised they've been compromised then they could act unpredictably.” She held up a set of manilla envelopes, one for each safehouse. “These are your parts of the main plan. Until we are certain this problem has been dealt with communication must be kept to a minimum. Only agents from this safehouse and those who have been in a position of leadership for some time are to be trusted.”

 

“What makes you so certain that it isn’t one of your own that sold you out?” Carrington got a murmur of agreements from the other representatives.

 

“Only three cells knew for certain where this safehouse was before today. Everyone in my direct service was either a Railroad veteran or chosen by myself or Deacon. Nobody was out on a job when the strike came, with three exceptions that have since been thoroughly checked. If the informant was one of my own then they would have died along with us.”

 

“The informant only made contact a few months ago, and if what they've told us is true they are a relatively new recruit.” Brandis repeated what he knew from the reports Elder Maxson had given him. “The information we received has been sporadic and of dubious quality until now. The last communication demanded a fairly large sum of caps in exchange for the location, half to be paid ahead, half after the attack.” Brandis tried to ignore the sensation of eyes burning a hole into his head from the rough direction Deacon was lurking in.

 

“Have you checked the dead drop, put an agent watching it?”

 

“We did. It was rigged with explosives. Nobody was hurt, but that means the informant is aware that the Brotherhood failed.” Desdemona had seen the damage it had done, Drummer had returned with Brandis' power armour speckled with ball bearings and shrapnel. It would have shredded anything less than heavy armour, anybody unprotected would be a wet mist and small chunks.

 

“So we are dealing with someone willing to kill to protect their identity.” Carrington let out an irritated sigh, feeling suddenly all too tired with the situation. The Railroad were all in it for the mission, even if they disagreed on how to best achieve the liberation of the synths. To have a traitor in the ranks that was willing to kill them not for a higher purpose but for simple greed left a disant stinging irritation on his already overworked paranoia.

 

“You all have your orders. Any questions?” There was another moment of quiet. Desdemona took a deep breath and gestured toward the exit with finality. “Good. Radio silence unless necessary, secure channels only. And good hunting.”

 

The representatives filed out of HQ quickly, slipping into Minutemen patrols and vanishing under stealthboy fields.

 

Desdemona looked to Deacon when only her agents remained, hoping he would give her some indication they were doing the right thing. He just pushed his sunglasses back up his face and shrugged heavily.

 

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

 

The staircase creaked uncertainly under the weight of power armour. The upper floors of the Hotel Rexford were only recently reopened, the repairs done still fresh and untested.

 

Nate unlocked the door to what Hancock had called the 'presidential suite' when he had thrust the key into his hand. The key had a wooden tab on it, heart shaped with 'honeymoon suite' carved in. Nate had not let Danse see that.

 

Danse didn’t hear what was spoken between the Mayor and his Knight but suspected he didn’t want to know. Caps had been exchanged, as had some stern words from Nate and a laughing shrug from the ghoul.

 

Nate had less than subtly suggested that if anything ruined his night there would be hell to pay. Hancock assured him that the less desirable elements of Goodneighbour knew well enough to stay away. Nate had a reputation around Goodneighbour, Hancock had spun a fair number of tall stories that he was Hancocks secret enforcer, only brought out in those situation where fire and death where needed in copious amounts. Nate had never refuted any of those stories, it was nice having almost guaranteed peace in the Third Rail during his visits.

 

He dropped his pack by the door and took a quick stock of the room. The bed was passable, large enough for two to sleep even with how tall and wide of build Danse was. The windows were almost intact, the handful of cracks sealed up with resin and glue.

 

Danse was treading lightly, tapping the floor every other pace until he found where the buildings support structure was. He didn’t trust his armour not to go crashing through the floor during the night otherwise. He had seen how easily old structures could cave under the weight of technology and really didn’t want to have to rescue it from the lobby where it might have landed on someone.

 

The evening had gone well enough. Nate had lead him down into The Third Rail, finding a nice corner for them to settle into. Danse had the strange experience of seeing Nate give a casual, flirty wink to the dazzling lady in shimmering red that was singing that night. She had came over to their space soon after, Nate taking her hand and kissing it in a gentlemanly fashion. Her coy smile and theatrical swoon was well practiced, a bubbling laugh erupting from both of them.

 

Nate introduced them. Magnolia gave him a quick glance and nodded approvingly, making a comment that Nathan had 'chosen well' and clearly enjoyed the way his cheeks tinged brightly and he bit his lip in embarrassment.

 

There was something about Magnolia Danse couldn’t quite place. Her attitude was relaxed and uncaring but her eyes were sharp and attentive. He almost suspected military training in the way she checked all of the exits with a moments glance at regular intervals.

 

Nate had handed her a fair sum of caps and scribbled a list of songs on a scrap of paper for her. She had taken it from him, swiped the pencil and studied it loftily, scratching off the songs she didn’t know.

 

She had sang several songs Danse had liked, Nate remembering them from a conversation in the mess hall some weeks ago, small talk over bad Recaf to calm the pre mission nerves. He was surprised Nate had remembered given how often he forgot other things.

 

Danse ejected from his armour after doing a cursory check of the hotel room. He circled about his armour, doing a quick inspection for the usual signs of rust and other wasteland debris wearing at it.

 

Nate was sat on the floor struggling to get his boots off. He had tied the knots twice to avoid them accidentally coming loose and was now unable to undo them. Danse just shook his head when Nate bent forward double and managed to get the knot in his teeth and pulled it apart.

 

He caught the disapproving look from Danse, shooting him a grin back.

 

“Flexible.” He wiggled his eyebrows, still with his foot clasped to his chest.

 

Danse shook his head again, returning to his armour check.

 

Once satisfied he reached up to unlatch the collar strap of his jumpsuit and pull the zipper, his fingers catching at the soft collar of his tshirt instead and reminding him harshly why he wasn’t wearing his uniform anymore. He pulled it over his head, folded it neatly and laid it out on the dresser, brushing aside the dust with the back of his hand as he did so.

 

He turned, finding Nate sat on the edge of the bed, his boots left in the middle of the room where he had taken them off. He wore a very intense expression, it taking a few moment for Danse to realise exactly why.

 

Nate had not meant to stare. He had just been admiring the thin striped lines that ran along his shoulderblades, remnants of an old injury, when he had turned to face him and all other thought failed. He could see the patchwork of scars that dappled and lined his chest and forearms, a few leaving silvery lines through dark hair. He had already known Danse was strong but there was something strangely intimate about seeing just how much so, especially with how guarded he had been about it in the past.

 

He felt himself speak, still in a daze and not realising at all what he had said. Whatever he had said had put Danse at ease.

 

He finally regained some semblance of his his senses, the warm smile Danse gave him making his heartbeat pound in his ears.

 

Danse took a deep breath and decided to act impulsively. The top button of his jeans made a very loud 'pop' in the dimly lit room, as did the slow lowering of the zip. He hooked his thumbs into the waist, catching his underwear with it and in a single move dropped them both and stepped out of them.

 

He stood a little nervously, hands at his sides completely naked. His stance was practiced and military, a perfect parade pose ruined only by the bright tinge of colour spreading across his cheeks toward his ears. The impulsive bravery of a moment before was almost used up.

 

Nate just nodded appreciatively, what little of his ability to turn thought into coherent sentences had now long fled. He opened his mouth to speak, and instead just moved his jaw a few times. Eventually he got out an enthusiastic 'yes' whilst still nodding.

 

He struggled to get his own tshirt over his head, fighting out of it and throwing it across the room.

 

Danse had crossed the room while he fought with his own clothing, leaning down to cradle Nates chin between thumb and finger and lift his head upward. The kiss was brief and harsh, Nate still reeling from it when he found himself pushed backward onto the bed and his own jeans and underwear being pulled down and discarded.

 

The paladin was atop of him a moment later, his mouth tracing along his neck, then jawline, then lips again. He realised that Danse still hadn’t done anything for how dry and windburnt his lips were, despite Haylen and now Curie having suggested he fix that.

 

They were pressed so close they could feel the thundering of each others heartbeat and the swell of their chest as they breathed. Nate ran his hands down Danses back, finding what he guessed had once been claw wounds and tracing them with his fingers gently. There was a shiver from Danse, it was evidently sensitive, Danses already fierce kissing now taking on a rough edge that Nate certainly liked.

 

Danse stopped abruptly and went from resting on his elbows to pushing himself up and off Nate, giving him a moment to draw breath.

 

“I need to know now, is this what you want?” The intensity of the look in his dark eyes made his chest feel tight and his head light.

 

Nate didn’t have even the slightest doubt.

 

“Yeah.” Nate took a breath, not noticing just how hard his lungs were stinging for air until that moment.

 

Danse was about to lower himself back down when Nate impatiently knocked his elbows out from under him with a sly smile. Nate caught him, but not without nearly knocking the air out of his lungs with a laugh.

 

Nate brought his hand up to Danse face, brushing his thumb down the scar that ran down his eye, feeling the sharp prickle of stubble against his palm. The slight disapproving look and raised eyebrow faded into a look of quiet relaxation. There was a moment where he just admired Danse, the relaxed smile and the way he was looking at him felt right. His voice caught in his throat as he tried to say someting that felt right.

 

It struck from his right, a searing flash of white hot pain through his skull that made him wince and recoil hard enough to push Danse back.

 

“Soldier? Are you alright.” Danse was off of him instantly, at his side and concerned.

 

“I'm fine.” That was a lie, there was a quickly shrinking blindspot on the right side of his vision and the sensation like he had just done a round of heavy exercise, and not the kind of heavy exercise he had certainly been enjoying the run up to. This was the Knight Sergeants making the Knights do laps of the airport barracks all morning until they threw up kind.

 

“No you are not. I can feel you shaking.”

 

“Fine, I need the green pills.” He gestured toward his discarded clothes, clutching at the side of his head and screwing his eyes shut.

 

Nate rolled over onto his back, swung his legs out over the side of the bed and used the momentum to pull himself into an upright position. The sudden shift made his headache stab at him, his eyesight clouding over momentarily.

 

Danse picked up his jeans, fishing out the strips of medicine from the belt tied pouches and handing it to him with his canteen of water. He stood to take them when they were offered, sitting on the beds edge with Danse next to him.

 

Nate popped two from the foil and downed them with a heavy swig of water and a heavy shudder.

 

With a heavy gulp he downed a large portion of the canteen, remembering that Curie had suggested that he keep himself hydrated and avoid any strenuous activity. He had done neither.

 

“We're both naked, horny and willing, and somehow I still screwed this up.” Nate let out a long sigh, sloshing the contents around and realising that it would need refiling in the morning. He stooped off the bed and set it to rest on the floor.

 

“I care for your well being far more than I care for an errant act of carnality. There will be time later for such things.”

 

“I suppose you're right. I shouldn't have rushed this.”

 

“The blame is partly mine, I should have considered your current condition and made accommodations for it. But so should you. Don't push yourself past your functional limits in a compromised state.” Danse had seen Maxson do the same thing. He had never allowed sickness or injury to deter him from his duties, even to the point where Cade had wanted to intervene. “Can I talk to you about a serious matter for a moment.”

 

“I don't do serious well, that’s always been your department.”

 

“If this all works out you'll have to get serious, your insubordinate attitude will not take you far. You'll be leading a whole chapter of the Brotherhood of Steel.” He could see the way Nate shrank back slightly at the thought of it all. He was going to have to learn how to contain that in front of what were going to be his troops.

 

“Its not insubordination if I’m in charge.” Nate stuck out his tongue between his teeth playfully, a little colour returning to his face.

 

“You'll need to inspire command and respect, you'll need to show the qualities of leadership. You'll also have to stop the Chapter splintering under your command.”

 

“I already have a plan for when the time comes.”

 

“Maxson came to power by being unflinching, and able to outmanoeuvre his opposition. He also had the backing of the other chapters, somthing we lack. I worry what a toll it will take on you to live up to that.” Danse had seen Maxson push himself to his limits, too little sleep and too much caffeine to compensate.

 

“Could operations in the Commonwealth continue if we sent the worst of the chapter back to the Citadel?”

 

“The way things are now I doubt it. If we could build up our numbers somehow or take some of the work off our shoulders it could feasibly work.”

 

Nate had that look of calculation on his face, gone too soon with a tired shrug.

 

“Those are problems for later.” Nate sighed. “I'm tired, and this is probably the last time we're going to have free from all that responsibility.”

 

“Sleep then, I’m here for you.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

Nate took the farthest side of the bed, curling up small under a layer of blankets. Danse pulled him close, getting a chorus of sleepy murmurs, but only after moving a chair against the door as makeshift barricade and leaving a loaded pistol on the bedside table. Nate trusted the place, but Danse still had reservations about sleeping in a nest of ghouls and other undesirable elements.

 

Danse found sleep too easily, glad the day was finally over.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully I can keep up a fairly regular posting schedule. I did a lot of work on this fic recently, expanded a few plot points left hanging into full chapters, and so long as nothing needs a full redo then its just editing what's written all the way to day 21.
> 
> For anybody wondering about it there have been some hints about the Brotherhood infiltrator scattered about, enough to possibly work out something important about them.


	20. A New Day

Day  10 since the Incident at Listening Post Bravo.

 

 

 

 

Desdemona looked at him like he was mad. After a moments consideration she decided he was most certainly mad, but this came as no surprise to her. She took a heavy drag of her cigarette and stubbed it out, exhaling through her nose.

 

Deacon was strapping himself into Nate's chameleon armour, checking all the coiled emitters were in the right places as he did so. There was a key hanging from his belt, heavy and scratched from use. He had picked it from Nates pocket after an idle moments idea, knowing he'd gotten the right one from the tiny winged gear stamped onto it.

 

“You're really going to do this?” She had long given up on finding the farthest reach of insanity Deacon would achieve, a permanent sense of disbelief takings its place.

 

“You heard him. We've got to 'bleed the Brotherhood dry' and what better way to do it than to sneak on-board and take anything not nailed down.” Deacon tightened the velcro strap, smoothing it flat with his palm.

 

“I was working under the impression we would be cutting their supply lines. The Minutemen are handling that part for us.” Desdemona had been pouring over maps of supply routes, tracking where each part of the Brotherhood war machine was sourcing its supplies. She had already determined the most obvious lines to cut, only waiting for confirmation from Garvey that it could be done without raising too much suspicion of outside involvement.

 

The sunglasses were removed delicately and laid on the planning table, his eyes giving away what Desdemona worried was malicious glee. Too often she had seen that worrying look on Charmer, often when being sent to handle the more messy and explosive work that was required for the cause.

 

“We need to force a supply shortage. They could be stocked up enough to last months, and we don't have that kinda time.” Deacon jumped into Brandis' armour, the markings modified to identify him as a Paladin from the Citadel. The shrapnel damage on both sides had taken some time to fix, Deacon becoming increasingly frustrated with the tiny hammers required for such delicate armour work. Brandis had seen junior armoursmith Scribes do better work, but chose to bite his tongue and not antagonise Deacon any more than strictly necessary.

 

“If you get captured it put our whole operation in jeopardy.” She knew he wouldn’t be dissuaded unless she ordered him directly not to go. And even then there was still a good chance he would do it anyway. She had to wonder if there was a grain of truth in all of Carringtons complaining about her agents.

 

“If.” It came out low and booming. He was putting a considerable effort into sounding gruff, the helmet comms helping immensely. “Knight Deacon reporting for duty ma'am.” He pulled a crisp salute.

 

Desdemona had to admit he could fill the role well, just whether it would fool the Brotherhood was another matter entirely.

 

“Ad Victoriam Brother.” She said it with a heavy lashing of sarcasm, hand raised to her chest in a mock salute with another cigarette unlit dangling between her fingers.

 

“I would suggest practising how to walk in it first, your posture is a dead giveaway.” Brandis snorted from his chair. He was no longer tied up, but the collar had been left as a precaution. He hadn’t liked it, but he understood the need for security.

 

“Thank you Brother, I will take your suggestion into due consideration.” Deacon was trying to sound like Danse, the accent close enough to pass for a Capital Waste native.

 

Brandis just shook his head.

 

“You need more big words and long winded phrasing if you're copying him.”

 

“Let me try that again.” Deacon coughed theatrically, slipping back into the voice. “Something, something, I am blithely unobservant and oblivious to the clear and present desire for my subordinate to fornicate with me on the nearest authorised surface. Ad Victoriam.”

 

Desemona took her green tea and returned to her workstation, no longer wanting to dignify Deacon with a response.

 

Drummer Boy simply swept a handful of supplies and folders into his bag and decided now was the time to get a start on the days tasks. He was running some notes over to the new Goodneighbour base.

 

“Never say anything like that again. Please.” Brandis just shook his head again, realising how often he did that in both Nate and Deacons presence.

 

Deacon pointedly ignored him and did a lap around the main room, teetering a little less than he had the last time he had worn power armour.

 

“So what's the first priority then? Weapons, ammunition, medicine?” The Railroad leader watched him circle around a little more confidently.

 

“I'll figure that out when I get there. Might just get a good feel for the place.” He shrugged.

 

“Just be careful.”

 

“I know what'll happen to me if I get captured. Pliers to my teeth and electrodes to my private parts, and not in 'the safe-word is banana' kinda way. Now that brings back memories of happier times.” Deacon popped his helmet just so it could be seen when he wiggled his brow at Desdemona, who responded with only a blank stare.

 

“I find it really hard to believe this is the operation we've had so much trouble crushing.” Brandis resisted the urge to shake his head for the third time in only a few minutes.

 

Maxson had made the Railroad out to be a shadowy organisation manned only by the best, quietly recruiting individuals through secret rites and dangerous trials to weed out the unworthy. He was instead finding them to be a barely held together group of misfits and vagabonds, the only assets they had with proper training were the two Paladins they had poached from the Brotherhood. With shame he realised that he had been captured and his whole team wiped out by this collection of idiots.

 

He poured himself a cup of Desdemonas tea from the glass teapot and wished very hard that it was instead a good cup of extra strength recaf.

 

 

 

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

 

 

 

Nate startled awake, air catching in his throat as pale, early winter sunlight streamed in through the grimy window.

 

He realised he was naked when his hand went to his hip to do a weapon check and found only bare skin. Several seconds later he recalled the event of the night before, disappointed that it had not gotten nearly as far as he would have liked.

 

Danse was sat with his legs crossed on the floor with his back to him, facing the door. There was a laser scattered in several parts on a white cloth, a roll of fairly new tools arranged in a neat arc around it.

 

Mist had settled across the settlement when Danse had ventured out an hour before, encountering almost nobody. A few of the security forces had given him strange looks, whether it was because of his Brotherhood association, his rather public display the night before or the Mayor putting the fear of fiery death by Knight Nathan into them he did not know.

 

The exchange he had with the weapon vending robot had been tense and luckily quickly over. Kleo had asked Danse to give Nathan her warmest regards. Danse had never introduced himself to the machine and had no intention of ever doing so, immediately defensive that she knew his name.

 

He had gotten up without disturbing Nate, dressed, gotten a light breakfast and acquired the tools he needed in a short span of time, returning and stripping again before climbing back into bed. Nate had showed no signs of waking at anything resembling a decent time, idleness driving Danse to work on something practical.

 

“Danse?” Nate called out, the dry, morning croak of his voice approximating the sound.

 

The Paladin carefully set down the part he was field stripping, counted the screws and laid down his screwdriver. He stood, turning smoothly to face him.

 

He realised that Nate had a very one track mind when he saw exactly where his eyes had gone to, and how much effort and willpower he put into only looking him in the face thereafter. It was almost endearing that he could elicited such a potent reaction by just standing unclothed in his presence.

 

“Finally awake.” Danse could see the way he swallowed heavily, maintaining unblinking eye contact. If he had demonstrated even half the willpower and determination in his duties he probably would have been promoted months ago in far better circumstances.

 

He did a languid stretch, the muscles along his chest going taut. He knew exactly what he was doing, a slight measure of revenge for all the mornings where he had been awful at waking up.

 

It must have been visible on his face because Nate was now wearing a half serious frown, a single eyebrow raised.

 

“Enjoying yourself.” The raised eyebrow stayed even as a bright smile appeared.

 

“Perhaps.” The Paladin allowed himself a moment of petulance, fully aware that he was treading in Nates territory with it.

 

Danse lifted his underwear out of the neat pile he had left it in, dressing himself promptly much to Nate's disappointment. He tossed Nate's clothing toward to him, the response to bury his head under the pillow and make a muffled announcement that Danse should stay naked because he liked looking at him like that more.

 

He went to the bag still by the door, unzipping it, and taking out the bottle of Nuka Cherry and Nuka Quantum and carried them over to the bed. With a quick motion he prised the pillow off Nates head and handed him the brighter bottle.

 

Nate sat up on his elbows, taking the cap off against the bedframe and drinking down the glowing blue liquid greedily.

 

Danse sipped his slowly, his throat dry and strained. He was looking into nothingness, thought blooming and dying in his head.

 

“You have that 'i want to talk to you about serious stuff' look again. Are we going to handle that now because I'm not certain I'm ready first thing in the morning.” Nate noticed the far away expression.

 

“Its almost midday.” There was a sharpness to it, irritation that this had happened too many times before.

 

“Same difference.”

 

“Do you see a future with me?” Danse threw the question out, catching Nate entirely off guard.

 

“Yes.” There was no moment of thought, just the answer. “Why the question?”

 

“I've lost people that I’ve cared for before. I served the Brotherhood for more than ten years, watched soldiers under my command die. Sharing a bond with someone, knowing how easily it can be taken away, that scares me.”

 

“You've seen me take on supermutants, raiders, feral ghouls and deathclaws. I've come out of all of it alive. Try again tincan, what's really worrying you?” Nate was dressing himself now.

 

“I found out something recently about my nature as a synth. It was Glory that told me, Curie confirmed what she said. She had served with the Railroad a lot longer than I thought. I always thought I was just ageing gracefully, the truth is I seem to not be ageing at all.”

 

“You're immortal?” He sat on the bed next to him, grabbing the blanket and draping it over both of them to chase away the slight cold in the air.

 

“Probably not. Curie seems to think our upper lifespan is considerably greater than that of a human. By a very wide margin actually. I might not be able to grow old with you, I’m probably going to have to watch you die of old age one day.”

 

“And tomorrow you might step on a mine and send yourself to every corner of the Commonwealth the messy way. You really can't control the future. I tried to, and I ended up two centuries in the future with a tincan lover who over-thinks things.”

 

“If you could go back to your old life from before the great war, would you?”

 

“If I could bring you back with me I would consider it. Not because of my regrets though. I have a lot of them, everyone does, but I wouldn't ever trade what I have now for a second chance.” Nate put his hand on Danse's leg comfortingly. “As strange as it may sound I like this new world. My old one was dying and frankly humanity needed a fresh start. Out here I can make a real difference to a lot of lives in a way I couldn’t before.”

 

“What was your life like before Vault 111?” Danse brushed the hand on his leg away gently and wrapped his arm around him, pulling them closer for warmth under the blanket. The answer was doing something to quell his doubts. “I know you don’t like talking about it, but I want to know everything.”

 

“I don't really think about it a lot, its hard to remember. I joined the military as soon as I was eligible. Thought it might straighten me out, bring my attitude problem under control.” Danse let a single barked laugh free at the thought of anything bringing him into line. “Didn’t really work. They figured my attitude problem was best dealt with away from everyone else so I was put to work sneaking behind enemy lines and blowing things up. I was given an honourable discharge for undisclosed reasons, I suspect they decided I was a liability rather than an asset.”

 

Nate looked quite bitter, like the discharge was a very sore topic for him. His brows arched together, lips pursed as he had said it.

 

“What about after, your civilian life?”

 

“I got married. Nora was my best friend but we were never in love, for obvious reasons.” Nate motioned to himself and then Danse, implying his taste was for men. “We settled for each other because it was easier to get a mortgage and do taxes as a couple. Actually she did the taxes, never had a head for numbers. I wasn’t exactly out dating, something in my attitude drove guys away I suppose. Figured I could do worse than spend my life with my best friend. Having Shaun was her idea and I couldn’t see a reason why not. I think you would have liked her, hell I think she would have liked this new world as much as I do. She was terrifying when she wanted to be, I would have loved to see what she could have achieved with a set of power armour and a really big gun. She would have left a trail of fire and destruction they'd be talking about for decades to come.”

 

Danse could understand exactly why they had gotten along so well.

 

“What about Shaun? I know you tracked him to the Institute but you wouldn't tell anybody what happened to him.”

 

Nate flinched slightly, taking a short breath before speaking.

 

“Remember how I told you I was refrozen for ten years after he was taken.” Danse nodded at this, worried just how cold Nate's tone had become. “It was longer, a lot longer. All I found of Shaun was a name on a memorial, old age got him long before I even woke up. He had a good life within the institute, better than I could have given him.”

 

Danse could read the guilt clearly.

 

“I'm sorry.”

 

“Don't be sorry, you did nothing wrong. I'm happy he got to have such a comfortable life, and I’m no longer tied to my past. I have no obligations now, any choices I make are mine and mine alone.”

 

“I'm not the best at expressing how I feel but I'm glad you chose to stay with me.”

 

The only indication Nate was listening and not lost in his own thoughts was the way he leaned into Danse, head resting against his shoulder.

 

“Ever since I woke up in that vault my mission was always to recover Shaun. Without that I needed a new purpose so I did what I do best and tried to help people in need. I thought the Brotherhood of Steel could offer me that and for a while it did. I fell in love with my commanding officer and followed him about like an idiot, trying to make the world a better place along the way by blowing things up.”

 

Danse had watched Nate go into the Relay Interceptor full of hope and return tired and lost. He could understand now, the reason clear why he threw himself head first into his duties as a Knight for months after, spending as much time as he could forwarding the cause of the Brotherhood. Danse had made no secret of it, he enjoyed having Nate, Haylen and Rhys together as a team. Now that those times were over he longed for them again so badly.

 

It was strange to think during those months he had been quietly helping the Railroad, and had amassed a reliable network of allies and contacts he could call upon if needed. Danse had only made contact with a small number of those allies and left a terrible impression on most of them, a number of them of questionable if not outright untrustworthy natures.

 

“So what's your purpose now?”

 

“Help the Commonwealth. I can do that by stopping the Brotherhood from hurting anyone else, maybe even put them back onto the right path. Then we deal with the Institute.”

 

“Those are short term goals. What about in the long run? You're going to be leading a Brotherhood Chapter.”

 

“ I  don’t intend to plan quite that far ahead.  What about you, what are your goals?”

 

“I don’t really have any. My life was always about following the Brotherhood of Steel, and that’s now lost to me.”

 

“Why did you join up in the first place?”

 

“I was a salvager, barely living off the scrap I could haul. I wanted a better life, a chance to do some good.”

 

“ You've done a lot of good for a lot of people. You've saved a lot of lives, and you might not have the Brotherhood right now but I know the Minutemen and the Railroad will support you if you ever need it .”

 

“ I suppose you're right.” Danse smiled thinly. 

 

“ That ' s what you need me for, to remind you about all those things.”

 

“So what do you need me for?”

 

“ Keep me focussed, keep me warm on long nights, and to yell at me for tiny uniform infractions.”  He could sense the sidelong look he was getting at the last one. The uniform rules had been bent a little too often for the Paladins tastes. 

 

“I'm certain I can find a myriad of other infractions to chew you out over, just give me enough time.”

 

“ R ight now we need each other, and not just because we're...” Nate tried to find a word for what they were to each other and instead just made a vague waving gesture between them “...a thing. Once this is all over  I want to share my life with you without expecting anything back.  I need you not to need me, and still chose to stay. I hope that makes sense. ”

 

“A strange way to think about it, but yes I understand. It makes sense I suppose. Thank you for being so patient with all my insecurities. I'm not certain what feelings are real and what are programmed, whether all of this is just some anomaly in my programming.”

 

“Everything you feel, everything you are you've earned as a result of the life you've lead.  You're a good person because you've chosen to be  and worked hard for it. I'm proud of you for that.”

 

“ I ' m still just a machine.”  Danse was looking at his hands as if they had betrayed him.

 

“ If I was a synth  too would it change how you feel about me?” Nate had that look like he was plotting something.

 

“A week ago, maybe. I don't know anymore.”

 

“Somebody a lot smarter than me pointed out something about my life, that it doesn’t make sense. My memories from before the Vault are hazy from the cryo-sleep, no foolproof evidence i'm not a copy of a real person seems to have survived two hundred years and I remember leading just the right life to have all the skills needed to survive in this world. I even have a connection to the Institute. I could very well be a synth sleeper agent who took the place of someone who died in the vault.” Dima had sat him down and carefully picked his past apart. At the time he had dismissed the whole idea, but even months of ignoring it had not dulled the paranoid voice urging him to find out for certain.

 

Danse looked at him strangely, weighing up this information and how to respond to it.

 

“You're you. That ' s what matters.” He said it with less certainty than he would have liked. “Is there no way to know for sure.”

 

“Only one that’s certain. Put a bullet in my head and fish about in there for any cybernetics.” The chuckle he gave was grim.

 

“There ' s no other way?”

 

“One, maybe. It worked on another synth with buried memories but the circumstances were a lot different. The Railroad didn't get his reprogramming quite right, it took years to happen but the implanted memories started to reject. He started getting headaches, fatigue, it was when he fainted we got concerned. I accidentally broke the programming, made him remember. Process might work again, but I didn’t want to go through with it.”

 

“ Why  didn’t you try it  when you first became suspicio u s? ”  Danse knew that meant Nathan had been carrying around the knowledge that he was potentially a sleeper agent for some time. A Brotherhood soldier had a duty to announce if they were potentially compromised, for the good of all.

 

“It wasn’t a pleasant experience from what I witnessed of it. And as I said I didn’t think it really mattered to me.” He had to suppress a shudder.

 

He could still recall the mind splitting sensation of memories fighting, the dissonance painful even through the memory lounger link. The buried memories had been unlocked using the same tethered link they had tried between Kellogg, Nick and himself, forcing what they realised too late were the Railroad crafted memories aside. Amari had pulled him out moments later pointing to where they had ran off, Nate having to stagger in a dazed state after them as he fled into Goodneighbour in a blind panic. That night had turned interesting, the end of a bad week and the start of another of recovery for both of them.

 

“Would you consider going through it?”

 

“Why?”

 

“Certainty. Once you are in a position of leadership we need to know for certain you are not compromised. If you are a sleeper agent then the Railroad will need to strip out any dangerous overrides that could be used against us.”

 

“Before this is all over I’ll do it.” Nate sighed, resigning himself to the fact it was going to be unpleasant.

 

“You have no need to worry, I’ll be with you through whatever you have to do. I promise you that.” Danse thought for a moment before adding. “And if the truth is that we are both synths then I will not hold it against you.”

 

Nate drank the last of his Quantum, a sudden grin splitting his face.

 

“I can think of a certain handsome synth I would most certain like to be held against me.”

 

“We need to get back to HQ. We have work to do.” Danse did not dignify him with an answer.

 

“Just a few more hours? Please.”

 

“Fine.” Danse rolled his eyes, realising just how soft civilian life had made him. If Nate had suggested skipping a few hours of duty only a few weeks ago he would have been marched straight to the elder.

 

“Thank you. I love you, you know that right?”

 

The kiss to his forehead answered that question.

 

 

 


	21. Every Failure a Monument

Day  10  and Day 11 since the Incident at Listening Post Bravo.

 

 

 

The gate guards gave him a lackluster salute, suddenly standing bolt straight when they spotted the rank and station markings. Brandis had been right when he had put those markings on him.

 

Even through a helmet Deacon could see the way theirs eyes lingered on the Citadel markings, their pose tensing up just enough to show their discomfort. Brandis had insisted that posing as a Citadel Paladin was the best way to get past security without scrutiny, the Prydwen staff had an almost flinching reaction to their presence.

 

From what he had heard the Citadel had been running on a skeleton staff for coming up to half a decade, and had adapted all too well to the lack of oversight. While the Prydwen had been up and down the east coast securing new territory the Citadel staff had kept the Capital Wastes secure. By any means necessary.

 

Elder Maxson had taken what he deemed the best of the chapter aboard his personal vessel and left the rest to handle their own affairs. What he had not expected was that the remainder, plagued with discipline issues and often 'creatively reinterpreting' the Codex would make a brutally efficient if dubious force. They were regarded as feral dogs, barely a step above raiders, but none would deny their effectiveness. The Elder just had to turn a blind eye to certain 'unfortunate incidents' they were involved with.

 

From what little Charmer and Danse had told him it was a little hidden fact that Maxson wanted nothing more than to solve that problem once and for all, but his hands were tied because of some political treaty with the Outcasts and a complete lack of a replacement force to take their duties. The 'Purging of Meresti' was one story Deacon had heard, both from Brandis and a few contacts in Rivet City. He could understand Maxsons displeasure at their methods.

 

Deacon noticed how there appeared to be a radius around himself where people parted, trying hard not to be near him but also how they were trying not to be noticed staring. He was drawing attention more than he would have liked.

 

He took a short walk through the airport, making mental notes of all the locations. The broken hulls of the aircraft on the runway had been stripped of all valuable material, the remainder pushed back to form a makeshift barricade. Barracks had been raised, and much to Deacons dismay he could count more Brotherhood soldiers lounging around off duty than the Railroad had active agents.

 

Deacon could remember a time when this airport was considered as a safehouse. That would have been terribly awkward when the Brotherhood literally landed on their doorstep.

 

There was a queue for the vertibird up to the ship, a team was at the head of the line with very narrow carbon scoring along their armour. If Deacon had cared enough to check he would have recognised it as the damage from the narrower beamed Institute energy weapons. The Scribe immediately ahead of Deacon turned to see who was casting a shadow over him, and instantly regretted it. Deacon was glad for his helmet, the urge to laugh a little too great and would have been on his face.

 

There was Medic Scribe flitting about doing checks, scribbling notes on a clipboard as they made their way down the line. They paused when they made it to Deacon, squared their shoulder bravely and marched toward him.

 

“Apologies Paladin, but I need to ask this. Are you of vault born ancestry?” The Scribe was tapping their pencil against the paper, the only outward sign of any nerves on their part. Danse had always said the Medic Scribes could be relied upon to never flinch in the face of danger, Nate had insisted it was just Haylen and that was because she could make the danger flinch first.

 

“No. Wasteland born.” Deacon kept his voice to a low growl.

 

“Then I am going to require a blood sample. Standard testing.” The medic produced a small device, drawing a clean hypodermic from a pouch and fitting it.

 

Deacon decompressed his armour, rolled up the sleeve to his jumpsuit and offered his arm. Nobody either noticed or dared to comment about the unusual coiled strapping he had on over the flight suit.

 

The entire time he had a look of thunder across his face that he had copied from Danse. The Scribe didn’t make eye contact, Deacon was intent to stare at the top of their head hard enough that they could probably feel it. He had resisted the urge to bring his sunglasses, he knew that the dress codes only allowed for very specific protective eye wear and anything else would draw undue scrutiny.

 

The medic pressed it into the crook of his elbow, only drawing a small amount of blood. A button atop was pressed and a single drop of liquid was deposited. The blood bubbled as if boiling, turning a sickly shade of green. A note was made of this.

 

“You are in the clear. Thank you sir.” The Scribe removed the used needle, pocketed the device again and fled back to their post. He had to wonder what they had been testing for, and why being Vault born influenced the outcome.

 

Deacon entered his armour again, rolling his shoulders languidly and trying to give the impression that he was bored and irritated with having been inconvenienced.

 

The ride up in the Vertibird was mercifully quiet. Deacon had noticed that the Lancer had been talkative with the last few passengers he had ferried, and had pointedly ignored all attempts at small talk. He knew from Nate that Lancers came in only two varieties, uptight assholes who looked down their noses at everyone and incredibly laid back adrenaline junkies who tried to be friends with everyone. There was a third variety supposedly, the screaming maniacs who were a little too enthusiastic about their payloads of firepower. They had all been left behind in the Citadel with only a handful of craft at their disposal.

 

Deacon dropped from the craft heavily, muttering 'appreciated' just loud enough to be heard.

 

The Lancer did a quick check, seeing that there was nobody to ferry down and returned back to the airport landing pad.

 

Deacon had a vague idea of the ship layout in his head, and considerably more stories about things Nate had gotten away with. He knew roughly where all of the hiding places were, could probably find where the Lancers kept their moonshine, knew exactly how much food could be 'borrowed' from the Mess before they noticed, but realised just how little actual tactical information Nate had revealed. He would have suspected Nate of deliberately withholding information if he wasn’t aware how utterly unobservant he could be outside of a mission.

 

The door opened outward, striking against Deacons armour as he reached for it. There was a momentary urge to shove the door back, throwing whoever was unfortunate enough to be coming through. He took a step back and offered to let whoever was on the other side pass.

 

His heart dropped into his stomach when Elder Maxson nodded to him, eyes lingering on the Citadel markings.

 

“Paladin.” His tone was clipped, expression unblinking.

 

“Sir.” Deacon pulled a salute a little too fast.

 

“At ease.” There was a notable amount of frustration in his voice.

 

Deacon thought what to say, improvising as quickly as possible.

 

“Sir, it is a pleasure to...” Maxson raised his hand for silence, shutting him up instantly.

 

He appeared to be counting down in his head. The tannoy crackled to life to announce that the vertibird fleet was returning to dock within the hour and that all outbound traffic would be strictly for missions only. That was what the Elder had been waiting for, a small satisfied look crossing his lips that everything was happening on time down to the second.

 

He turned to address Deacon again after another moment.

 

“You haven’t had your first briefing, or a formal welcome yet. I suppose I should rectify that. Welcome aboard the Prydwen.”

 

“Its an honour, sir.”

 

“I would assume you are up to speed on...” Maxson was cut off by the sound of a warning siren. The look on his face made it clear this one was certainly not planned.

 

Deacon froze, wondering if he had been discovered. He gave a sidelong glance overboard, guessing the distance down. He knew the armour could survive a fall from that height, in theory. If he had to he could shoot the Elder and jump, getting away on foot through a military installation full of trigger happy zealots.

 

“ _All hands, brace for incoming relay.”_ Kells shouted over the tannoy. _“Avoid open areas, all armoured forces provide cover, medical scribes mobilise.”_

 

Deacon was about to ask what was going on when he felt the air crackle, his whole body tingling. The Elder slammed the door to the command deck shut a moment before the thunder crack struck. There was a sound like a grenade going off on the other side, Maxson swearing under his breath.

 

The air charged again, close enough that Deacon felt static spark across his armour.

 

A blue white flash dazzled him, a vaguely humanoid outline appearing momentarily before twisting out of shape.

 

The skeletal synth partially exploded, the upper parts of its torso had somehow fused with its head, an arm sticking through it as if impaled. The remainder had been sheared away into fragments and had been blasted in all direction with tremendous force. There was a Deacon shaped outline on the wall made from ceramic and metal shards, the Elder stepping out from his shadow having narrowly avoided being shredded.

 

It fell to the floor, making an ear piercing shriek as molten metal poured from the parts that had been forced together by the failed relay. Maxson drew his sidearm and put two shots into it. It reminded Deacon of the sound Pam made when connecting to a network, only this one was clearly pained. The scream stopped, but the synth kept twitching and sparking.

 

“The hell was that?” Deacon flinched away from it as it tried to drag itself forward before finally stilling.

 

“Were you not briefed on the Institutes capabilities back at the Citadel?”

 

“Nothing like this was ever mentioned.” Deacon lied, wondering just what he was seeing.

 

“Disappointing, but hardly surprising. Once we're done in the Commonwealth I’ll see to it that the Citadel is brought back up to operational standards. They have been too long without proper leadership.” Maxson had what he assumed was his planning face on. His brow was creased and his jaw squared and set with irritation.

 

“So what was that? Sir.”

 

“Probing attacks.” Maxson let out a derisive snort. “The Prydwen has a relay interception field. It can't stop them getting in, but it can stop them arriving intact. It covers the ship and the airport.”

 

A handful of scribes were on the scene immediately, collecting the scattered parts and dousing the hot liquid metal. They each stopped to salute the Elder, Deacon noticing the slightest stiffening of his brow every time it happened.

 

“It must take a phenomenal amount of power to cover such a wide area constantly.” Deacon was pushing his luck and he knew it, but this was something that could potentially be exploited.

 

Maxson strode toward one of the docked vertibirds signalling Deacon to fall in step, running his hand over the fresh damage to the hull. There was a long sliver of what appeared to be a synth leg servo embedded in the hull, the edges still smoking. The Scribes attending were muttering about it. He noted that they mentioned that the attack was going to push back 'field stripping' the vertibird fleet by a half hour. With a grin he realised he had his first target of opportunity. As the engine case was lifted to take a look inside he saw a treasure trove of parts that could go missing. He just had to figure out which one was the most vital.

 

“This information was already supposed to have been provided before you left.” There was a short sigh and a deep breath from Maxson, snapping Deacons attention back to him. “We can keep the Prydwen covered indefinitely. The airport is another matter. We have a network of sensors circling the area, if any two detect an anomalous reading the field is extended outwards in that direction, catching the stream as it forms.”

 

The Elder pointed toward several buoys out in the water, and several small towers around the airport. They roughly formed a circle around the Brotherhood controlled area. There was wiring strung between them, as he traced it back to the source he could see it climbing the mooring cable. He guessed the field generators were housed solely on the Prydwen for security reasons.

 

“Thank you for explaining, sir.”

 

“My pleasure Paladin.” Maxson seemed for the slightest moment to have been genuinely at ease. “If I might make a small suggestion before I return you to your duties.”

 

“Sir?” Deacon again noticed the momentary way he stiffened.

 

“The mark on your shoulder. Memorial to a lost comrade I would assume?” He pointed to the black stripe he wore, something Brandis had insisted he have.

 

“Yessir.”

 

“It holds certain negative meanings in present time. There was an incident recently that has been hard on us all. If you choose to continue to honour them in that way I suggest you be vigilant, that mark is worn by some who are undermining our sense of unity.” The Elder grew more serious than even his usual harsh demeanour.

 

“The incident in question. Paladin Danse?” Deacon saw the fire ignite behind his eyes, the Elders grip on the safety rail whitening his knuckles.

 

“So that information made it to you.” Maxson shrugged hard, carefully controlling his composure. “Every success goes unmarked, every failure a monument. I suppose there will be time later to put that right.”

 

“Apologies sir.” Deacon was now certain that the Elder had grown very weary of being called 'sir' constantly.

 

“When are you next out on duty?”

 

“Thirteenhundred, patrolling the Cambridge to Diamond City route.” He could recall that patrol as a fairly common one, Nate complaining about it with reliable regularity. He had also seen the number of reports of near confrontations when agents had gotten a little too close to being discovered in that area.

 

“I won't keep you. Dismissed.”

 

“Sir.” Deacon did one last salute, the Elder matching it back stiffly.

 

Elder Maxson returned to his post and the gathering line of officers each waiting to brief him on coming operations. The short break he had afforded himself had not done enough to quiet his mind, and now he was also deeply unsatisfied with the new Paladin and irritated at the Citadel more so than usual.

 

The only small mercy had been that the new Paladin had been decently respectful. Hopefully the rest of the reinforcements were similar, though he doubted it. The Citadel rabble were often too quick to forget their rank around him.

 

There had been a scramble amongst the Paladins in the last week, all trying and failing to work their way into his inner circle. It was no secret that Maxson often delegated certain important matters to the Paladin now lost to them. There had been an idle thought that Nathan could take that role eventually, dismissed when he remembered how rash and aimless he was by comparison to Danse. He could not be trusted to handle matters that required careful planning and tactical insight. Planning was slow without someone to offload the work onto, too many times he found himself second guessing his choices without a sharp mind to bounce ideas off.

 

He only realised afterwards that he had not gotten a name from the Citadel Paladin, not that it had really mattered. He would figure out who they were when it came time to read their reports at months end.

 

There was something that had bothered him about the Paladin. The idea lingered in the back of his mind, ignored for more pressing concerns. It would take eleven days for him to regret not chasing it up.

 

As the Elder wrestled with lingering doubts Deacon found his way below deck to the storage area and started with his mission. He left the power armour behind a crate and activated the chameleon armour.

 

By days end the Brotherhood would be feeling the first icy touches of a supply shortage they had been fighting for months to keep at bay.

 

 

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

 

 

Danse gently nudged Nathan, nodding toward his pipboy. There was a flashing light in the corner, when he checked it there had been a momentary burst of activity on Brandis' power armour frequency.

 

A few minutes later they got a confirmation from one of the lookouts that a single Brotherhood soldier carrying a massive haul on their back was approaching Old Church. Desdemona gave the instruction not to engage.

 

Deacon swept through the tunnels beneath the church at speed, a lightness carrying in his step even in power armour laden down with two heavy rucksacks.

 

As he entered the main room he dropped the two bags down on the planning table, scattering a handful of folders out of the way. He unzipped one and gestured to his haul, popping off his helmet and laying it aside.

 

“Jackpot.” Deacon grinned, picking up his sunglasses from the spot on the main table he had left them a day prior.

 

Amongst them all was a large coiled rifle Desdemona could not rightfully identify.

 

He proudly presented a stamped card to Brandis who took it and studied it with an expression deep set and mostly scowling. Danse took a look and was nothing but raised eyebrows and quiet confusion. Nate let a brief snort of laughter free before straightening his expression, standing up on tiptoes to see over Danse shoulders. It was a duty timestamp, signed off by Proctor Teagen, that reported he had done two rotations of patrolling.

 

The amount of stolen equipment he returned with suggested strongly that he had made multiple trips back and forth, under the cover of performing duties.

 

“I take it the mission was a success.” Desemona took the card and tried to work out what the holes in it meant, sighing at Deacon as he motioned dramatically to his haul again.

 

“And then some.” Deacon released himself from his armour, stretched to get the feeling back below his knees and found the ugly floral hat that he insisted had to be left on top of any unused armour.

 

Danse hefted up the coiled rifle, flicking the safety off and getting a crackle of electricity running down the coiled barrel with what seemed to be familiarity.

 

“Care to tell me where this came from?” Danse was leaning against the wall, staring down Deacon. “It bares an uncanny resemblance to Proctor Teagans rifle.”

 

“Question, are these vital?” Deacon held up a string of small devices tied together by their wiring, clearly not wanting to answer the question Danse had given him.

 

Danse took one of them, turning it over a few times as he studied it.

 

“The ignition control for a vertibird. Easy enough to replace, but the engine needs to be stripped to refit it which takes a considerable amount of time. We keep a stockpile of spares.”

 

“In a cardboard box below deck?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Not anymore.”

 

“Just how much did you take?” Desdemona looked at the two bags.

 

“I went back for seconds, and then thirds. On a related note we need to send someone to the dead drop at the East Boston police station.”

 

“We don’t have a dead drop there at last check.” Desdemona raised an eyebrow.

 

“I set one up just in case, it was a personal request.” Deacon raised his hands defensively. Both Desdemona and Danse looked at Nate accusingly. He just shrugged back.

 

“PAM finished her final calculations whilst you were all away.” Desdemona pointed to a piece of paper sat on the main table, an itemised list of every last resource major and minor that would be needed. Nate had already scrutinised it. “We have a mission for you.”

 

Deacon picked up the paper and studied it.

 

“Radio transmitters, secure receivers, signal flares, a table, a copy of the Codex, a minimum of five life-sign detectors, a microphone.” Deacon paused his skim read of the list. “Thirty mini-nukes?”

 

“It makes sense in context.” Desdemona waved over to PAMs alcove.

 

“I trust it does.” Danse gave her a rather harsh look. “You have already given your word that none of those are going to bring harm to the Brotherhood.”

 

“I intent to keep to it. You know I cannot say what they are for, but I promise if all goes well then nobody dies. I already had to promise him that.” Desdemona pointed to Nate, who barely acknowledged her. “The hard part will be mustering forces. We need to convince a lot of people to work with us and keep it a secret somehow.”

 

She looked to Nate again, he was the one with the extensive list of allies supposedly at his beck and call. Nate was busy inside his own thoughts, snapping back to attention when he sensed several sets of eyes on him.

 

“Hancock's in, so we've got a portion of Goodneighbour security already. He can convince Cait and Fahrenheit when the time comes. The Minutemen are in, its just a matter of telling them when and where. I intend to give them a choice in the matter, but after what happened I can't see them refusing. I think I can convince the Atom Cats to side with us too, the Brotherhood has tried to confiscate their armour by force once already and they're really itching to get them back for messing with their precious tincans. The Railroad is for you to sort out, I know everyone from Old Church is in already but we'll probably need all of the safehouses. If we can get the caps together we could probably hire out a number of Gunners too but I cant see that happening, Preston and Macready would never forgive me for associating with them. That Everyone? Wait, Arcadia? The NukaWorld merchants owe me a favour but I don’t think they're in a position to help.” Nate drew a deep breath after reeling that all off quickly.

 

“Breath.” Danse practically gave it as an order, Nate taking a gulp of air as he tried to get the words out before any of it slipped from his mind.

 

“You really have thought this through.” Desdemona made a few notes, intending to later take a full account of just how many people were going to be involved in this plan. She would cross reference her intel once away from prying eyes, she needed to know ahead who were going to be a problem.

 

Deacon had found his way to the mission board, adding a tally to his score. He noted that there was a fresh addition to the list of codenames with a single mission under their belt. Liberty. They had a arrow connecting them to Charmer. He looked to Danse and back. He had honestly expected his codename to be either Tincan or Victory.

 

“Deacon, do you still have any connections inside the Atom Cats?” Deacon stopped to think, Desdemonas question had reminded him he hadn’t kept up his cover story with them. He had the leather jacket somewhere, and now he had a set of power armour to impress them with.

 

“Been a while, but I cant see why D.Cat can't make a comeback.”

 

“If they give you any grief tell them 'Jack' sent you.” Nate looked over to Deacon who had cracked open a trunk and was rifling through the piles of costumes. He paused to look back at him.

 

“You have involvements with the Atom Cats?” Desdemona had read reports of an associate of the Atom Cats by that name. Most of it was probably hyperbole, she had long given up separating the truth from the tall stories when it came to them. They were good allies, just not to be trusted with anything sensitive. She did know for certain 'Jack' had helped them out significantly over the last few months with supplies and connecting them with allies, and now that she thought about it the Minutemen giving them enough support to be counted as a minor power in the Commonwealth made sense.

 

“Is there any group in the Commonwealth left you haven’t sworn allegiance to?” Danse felt a sudden pang of surprise, he had thought by now he had unravelled all of Knight Nathans secret dealings.

 

“Gunners?” Nate looked suddenly very sheepish, the combined looks of Deacon, Desdemona and Danse had him feeling small. He had to wonder if MacCreedy counted on that front.

 

“So at this point you're in the good graces of everyone except the Gunners and the Institute.” Danse shook his head, the slight turn away as he said that from the rest of the Railroad making him feel very suspicious. “Would somebody care to explain what the hell that is all about?”

 

Nate shifted uncomfortably under his gaze.

 

“You didn’t tell him?” Desdemona shook her head. “The undercover work you've been doing?”

 

“I'm technically an agent of the Institute, and have been working on infiltrating them since the day I entered the Relay Interceptor.” Danse could see something behind Nate's eyes, guilt and anger. “I've kept open relations with them, they trust me enough to enter and exit their facilities with only some supervision. I've also been helping out our agents on the inside.”

 

“Why was I not informed?”

 

“Orders.” Nate shrugged. “Do you really think Maxson would have approved? The Brotherhood doesn’t do subterfuge, and there was things I needed to know about my son. I had to take matters into my own hands, and I couldn’t guarantee you'd choose my trust over your duty. It took me a while to get it straight in my head.” There was a moment of pause as if deciding whether to continue. “I nearly didn’t come back to the Brotherhood. I think the only reason I did is you came after me.”

 

“What happened inside the Institute?” Danse closed the gap between them, close enough his breath tousled the top of his head.

 

Nate looked at him, something behind his expression shifting and his attitude turned cold. He was putting on his mission persona; back straight, face impassive and voice level and even.

 

“I was given a task to prove my loyalty. I assisted the synth retention department with a particularly difficult recovery.”

 

Desdemona and Deacon flinched at this. They had chosen to ignore exactly what he had done to prove himself.

 

“There's something more than that.” Danse could see the gap in his words, the lie by omission. “Something happened and I think it has to do with your son.”

 

“It doesn’t matter any more. My son is dead and its fallen to me to undo his legacy.” Nate realised as the word left his mouth and Danses eyes narrowed with suspicion that he had said too much.

 

“His legacy?”

 

Deacon turned to flee, only pinned in place by the sharp nod from Desdemona. Nobody else saw that little exchange.

 

Nate swallowed and decided a little truth might be needed.

 

“The Institute needed dna that hadn’t been tainted by FEV or radiation. Shaun was the ideal candidate. From him they figured out what baseline human was.”

 

“Are you saying what I think you are?”

 

“My son provided the means to create the third generation of synths. He lead the project himself when he was old enough, everything that’s happened can be traced back to him, and through him me. I'm responsible for all of this.” Nate motioned to the HQ around him.

 

Desdemona was aware of all of this but made the effort to look surprised. Her sources within the Institute had also told her the rest of the situation. Nate was lying to them all about Shaun, about the Director. She had chosen to keep that between only herself and Carrington, understanding his reasons for secrecy.

 

“I can see why you ran from the Brotherhood. I know you think you couldn’t trust me back then, but I would have at least tried to understand. I was your friend, not just your commanding officer.”

 

“I have my reasons for doing what I did. I'm sorry.”

 

“Guys, you've dragged the mood down. Can you go back to being unbearable mushy instead.” Deacon had found his atom cats jacket and a black slicked up wig, an unlit cigarette at his lips finishing the look.

 

Nate shot him a dark look, grabbed Danse by the front of his shirt and pulled him down for a kiss. Danse flailed awkwardly, caught off guard and unsure where to put his hands.

 

“Better?” Nate gave him a stern look, Danse's face burning red.

 

“And the crippling loneliness returns.” Deacon smiled at them, his tone unserious and light.

 

“Get a room you two.” Brandis looked like he had been deep in thought, the measure he had taken of Knight Nathan shifting slightly in his mind.

 

“Returning to the business at hand. It would be nice for us to make it through a conversation without a heartfelt confession. Anybody else have any confessions to make now before we get down to business?” Desdemona looked at her assembled forces and realised just what a monumental task defeating the Institute was going to be with only them at her disposal.

 

“Hi, my name is Deacon. And I’m an alcoholic.”

 

“As I was saying. Deacon, you go deal with the Atom Cats. Nathan, Danse, you go to Sanctuary and inform the Minutemen we have a plan. I'll send Drummer to gather our field agents, we're suspending normal operations until this is dealt with.”

 

“I just got back from a mission, can't you cut me a break?” Deacon whined, slumping into a chair.

 

“You'll be fine. Its a diplomatic mission to a fairly friendly group, nothing much can go wrong.”

 

Nate felt a cold shudder pass through him. Whenever he said those cursed words something invariably went wrong. He hoped for Deacons sake that Desdemona didn’t share in his foul luck.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very happy with the first half, not so much the second. This is likely another one that will get another round of edits later. The first half is pretty much me enjoying world building what the Brotherhood would be like a year into deployment in the commonwealth.
> 
> The test Deacon was given on the gate serves an important purpose. Being vault born would give a false positive on the test, thats why they ask.
> 
> I figured if the Brotherhood had the relay interceptor for half a year they'd be able to figure out something with it to keep the Institute out.


	22. Seeds of the Harvest

Day 12 since the Incident at Listening Post Bravo.

 

 

 

 

Sanctuary was on the other side of the city from Old Church and was not the easiest of places to get to. Nate had sat studying a map of the city, plotting a route that was safe and crossing it against the latest intel. There was a cap placed on every path that was confirmed to be unsafe. There was enough caps laid out to pay for a good dinner and drinks afterwards. Nate was distinctly displeased at this.

 

County Crossing and Bunker Hill were firmly Brotherhood controlled now, the area between them and Cambridge Station a network of outposts, barricades and roadblocks locked down and patrolled too densely to cross. Vertibirds were in the sky around it constantly, floodlights illuminating the streets at all hours of the night. When Deacons sabotage came to light those forces would likely be redeployed, but they didn’t have time to wait for that to happen.

 

Traders crossing toward Bunker Hill had reported supplies and technology had been confiscated by Brotherhood forces, The Minutemen setting up alternate routes and making certain the news that Brotherhood territory was now dangerous got around. Drummer Boy had been given the order to assist their efforts.

 

Nate and Danse were forced to instead head through the city west and then through the wilderness, setting out after midnight when the late night and pre-dawn patrols would be swapped out.

 

It was a less than ideal situation, the Railroad HQ was sandwiched between the Brotherhoods base of operations and the area they operated in most often. If it wasn’t for the presence of Goodneighbour then the area would likely have been purged and contained the way Cambridge had. Nobody wanted to confront the fact that the Brotherhood of Steel was slowly clawing in territory at a time when everyone else was too busy with raiders and the Institute to really make a push back.

 

They couldn’t even stop at Diamond City without undue risk. The Brotherhood had stationed a handful of soldiers permanently around the city, supposedly as a diplomatic exercise. Brandis and Danse strongly suspected they were scouting the area for something. Mayor Mcdonough had thrown open the city to them, inviting them in as trade partners and immediately suggesting that Diamond City could undercut the Minutemen on supplies. Desdemona and Carrington were handling that problem. Diamond City was soon to experience an unusual over abundance of petty thefts and strange coincidences.

 

Every visit to the city was a calculated risk, Railroad agents were told to only visit on official business, in direst need and in heaviest disguise.

 

Nate could move safely through all of those Brotherhood obstacles, Danse could not. His new status as Paladin made him able to pass fearlessly through the kind of danger he was used to sneaking through, Danse by contrast was used to being able to pull rank effortlessly and was now forced to take a path through shadows.

 

Much to Nates amusement Piper had been playing up the anti-Brotherhood sentiment in her paper. There had been a few articles recently questioning the leadership of Elder Maxson and making insinuations about the Brotherhoods purpose in the Commonwealth. He could sense Nicks hand in it, the timing just right for them to be collaborating whilst he dealt with the task Nate had paid him for. He was going to have to go give an 'anonymous Brotherhood insider' interview at some point to help her out.

 

Just before dawn they had passed the Cambridge to Diamond City patrol route safely. Nate had found an empty building with a high rooftop, stopping for an hours rest before making the second part of their journey. Danse had released himself from his armour and sat with him, sharing a bottle of Nuka and a box of snack cakes as they watched the sun rise over the city.

 

Danse hadn’t even realised Nate was leaning into him until he started to fall asleep.

 

Nate awoke a half hour later with his head in Danses lap and with rough fingers gently stroking his hair. He would have liked to have stayed there watching the sun climb the sky but his right hip was cold and numb from the concrete.

 

He gently took Danses hand and planted a kiss to his wrist before hauling himself stiffly upright again, clawing the box of snack cakes closer to himself and noting with a tinge of disappointment that it was now empty. He didn’t have the will to be angry at Danse for eating them all, knowing how much he silently, guiltily loved those cakes. Some irritation came later when he had to shake cake crumbs out from his hair.

 

It was midday when they finally approached the bridge into Sanctuary.

 

Danse had never really liked Sanctuary even before Rhys and his attitude had gotten them escorted out of town and told it would not be a good idea to ever return. Knight Rhys had somewhat overstepped his boundaries on that mission to the point even Haylen had been angry with him. He assumed with Nathan present that ban was no longer in effect.

 

He could at least appreciate the strategic value of the area, it had a natural defence in the form of the river and its raised position and choke-point entrances made it difficult for raiders to approach and enter undetected and unharmed. The hill that hid the vault also made a good snipers nest, the slight glint of light from it as they approached suggested that someone was up there doing just that.

 

Nate had waved up to the hill, taking out his Minutemen radio and flicking through until he found the Sanctuary frequency.

 

“Tell MacCready its me, and to get me the hell out of his sights with that thing.” Nate looked up at the hill, seeing a figure rise and wave at him, holding up his sniper rifle in what was probably an apologetic gesture.

 

“Sorry boss.” Crackled over the radio in return.

 

They advanced in, the guards nodding to Nate but not stopping to talk to him. They seemed to be watching Danse, the familiar prickle in the back of his mind from being observed by armed civilians with a grudge against the Brotherhood ever present. If they had a problem they were not willing to voice it, at least not with Nathan present.

 

Nate was unusually quiet, his stance noticeably stiffer and tenser. The previous few times they had been there together his temper was unusually short and his tone curt and clipped to a fault. Danse had been forced to remind him of his rank and the respect due.

 

Something about Sanctuary made Nate uneasy, though he would never openly admit to what it was. Danse had suspicions given how close it was to the Vault, but he had chosen to leave the question unasked out of respect.

 

Preston patrolled regularly, greeting them as they approached the main row. Nate was warm and jovial toward the Minuteman in those few moments, their hands found each other with practiced ease and pulled in for a quick hug with aq heavy pat on the back before walking with him back to where Sturges was working on something at the workbench.

 

Sturges put down his tools and nodded to Nate, a smile at his lips the lit his face. He looked at Danse briefly, something like disappointment flashing through his expression very briefly that only the former Paladin seemed to pick up on.

 

Danse recognised him from Old Church, he was the one who had quietly been arguing with Nate. About what he had never found out.

 

“Its good to see you again.” He drawled, Nate pulled into a familiar hug, bone crushing and leaving Nate flailing for air.

 

“I can't stay for long, just running some supplies back to Des. Need to talk privately for a moment, I have your task.” Nate opened his backpack and removed a manilla folder. Inside was whatever PAM had designed.

 

“Spy stuff? Need to know and all that?”

 

“Compartmentalisation.” Nate said the word with a huff of mild irritation. Danse rolled his eyes at it. “Everyone only knows their part, and nobody tells anyone not a part of it.”

 

“Alright lets take this inside and have a proper look see.” Sturges lead Nate away, leaving Danse and Preston outside.

 

Silence reigned for several short seconds, Preston quietly motioning to the Nuka machine Nate had dragged across the wastes and repaired as an offer of a drink. Danse shook his head.

 

He had seen the work that had gone into repairing that machine. Knight Nathan had brought the components back to the Prydwen, somehow roping Teagan and Ingram into helping with the repairs. They had taken over the mess hall late one night, tools and scrap parts he had acquired scattered about in various states of dismantling. Over the hours more and more Knights and Scribes trickled in and started adding to the project. Maxson himself had eventually came to investigate, finding the mess hall of his ship covered in a tarpaulin and a significant part of the Brotherhoods repair staff rebuilding a vending machine. They had enough parts for two by the end, one going with Knight Nathan and the other donated to Cambridge Station. The simple show of working, pristine pre-war tech had a surprisingly positive influence on recruitment.

 

Preston battled with a thought, curiosity mingled with concern on his features. Even Danse could see it bubbling beneath the surface. Nate had officially given a report on Preston Garvey some time ago, the summary being that he was very trusting, easy to read and an altruist to a fault. Paladin Danse had never had the pleasure of meeting him outside of their respective ranks until now.

 

“Alright, ask me whatever it is.” Danse scowled at the Minutemen leader who was looking toward the house where Nate and Sturges were as if anticipating trouble.

 

“I heard a rumour about you, and its got me concerned. Is it true?” Preston shifted his weight from heel to heel nervously, rolling his shoulders against his coat.

 

“It is.” Danse felt his stomach lurch. He had not yet prepared himself to talk about that matter with anybody other than the Railroad. Even to the Railroad it twisted inside with every word.

 

“Sturges won't be pleased, not that he'd ever admit it.” Preston shrugged.

 

“If he has a problem with it he can talk with me himself.” Danse's jaw stiffened in anger. He would have to defend himself eventually.

 

“He won't. He's not the fighting type, even if its fighting for the Generals affection. When news came that you two had finally gotten together it hit him pretty hard especially with their history.”

 

Danse stopped for a moment as the gears in his head shifted.

 

“Wait. This is about me and Nathan?” His eyebrows raised and then dipped in confusion.

 

“Yeah. What did you think I meant?”

 

“Nevermind that. What you mean by 'their history'?” Danse looked at him accusingly.

 

“You didn't know?” It was Prestons turn to be confused.

 

“Know what? Tell me.”

 

Preston sucked air in through his teeth, shifting from foot to foot again as he wondered if retreat was a valid option at this point.

 

“I only know because I walked in on something. It was a long time ago now, but I think it was going on for a while.”

 

“What did you walk in on?”

 

“I think you know exactly what I walked in on. I saw a lot more of the General, and a hell of a lot more of Sturges than I’m comfortable admitting. I'm pretty certain the general's ankles were somewhere behind Sturges head.” Preston had not been able to look Sturges in the eye for days. Each time he tried he just had the image burned into his mind of him caught mid thrust, frozen like a stunned radstag. He also did not need to know how flexible the General was.

 

Danse's jaw fell open slightly as he gawked for a moment, a blush blooming across his cheeks and out across his neck, jaw and ears. The image of Nate and Sturges flashed through his mind, and he knew exactly what look would be on his soldiers face; that toothy grin that looked ready to slip into a snarl at the slightest provocation. Danse blinked once, then again a few times until that line of thought was dismissed. It sent a white hot surge through him, a petty desire to stake his claim to his Knight that he knew all too well was immature and unneeded. He didn’t need grand gestures to know Nathan was his and he was Nathans. Certainty calmed him.

 

His armour was suddenly a little too warm and a little too confining for him.

 

Preston took the prolonged silence as a sign to say more and not Danse having a moment of distraction.

 

“It was clear as day the General was head over heels with you, but he thought you were never going to return his attention. Those two are good friends, but I don’t think even with what they got up to they were ever anything more than that.”

 

“That’s a comfort to me, I suppose.” He had to put a great deal of effort into keeping his voice level and even, pushing hard against the blush in his face.

 

“There is one more thing I need to ask.” Danse held his breath, waiting for the synth question to come. “Does the General act kinda strange sometimes? Like there’s a few screws loose, especially when they're armed?”

 

He didn’t sigh with relief, carefully letting out the breath. He realised later he was carefully managing his outward actions, trying to keep calm and in control of how he appeared. Too much time amongst the Railroad, too little around honest soldiers.

 

“They have an attitude toward combat situations I would consider unorthodox if that’s what you mean.” Danse knew exactly what he meant, he had long worried about it and the insistent refusal to let Cade do any proper analysis. Even after the Relay Interceptor incident and his temporary abandonment of duty he shrugged off any kind of help.

 

“Its just the first time I met Nate he came to our rescue. Climbed into an old set of t-45 and charged head first into raiders.” Preston looked at the old power armour in the corner, how it had been their last hope barely a year ago.

 

“My team sent out a distress call, he answered it. It was dark, and he came out of nowhere with a baseball bat and a sidearm. It was messy.” Danse recalled the event. He had thought at the time Nate was either a raider or using Psycho, it was only once they had done a few missions together after his official induction to the Brotherhood did he realise that he was carrying too much emotional baggage with too little control or healthy ways to release it.

 

“Rescuing people is what the General does best.”

 

“What you two eggheads going on about?” Sturges strolled out of the house, Nate behind him.

 

“Nothing important.” Danse spoke rather defensively. He studied Sturges inquisitively for a moment, the passing comment Nate had made that first night at Old Church about being physically intimate with somebody 'Tall, broad chest, massive arms, dark hair. Looks like a bruiser but has a heart of gold' came back to him. Sturges temperament reminded him a little of himself before joining the Brotherhood. In that moment Danse saw exactly what Nate had been drawn to. It was only a small comfort.

 

“I need to go back to my patrols, but I’m nearby if you want something.” Preston tipped his hat to Nate and set out again.

 

“I looked over the plans. You Railroad types are crazy doing what you're gonna do. I'll have my part ready in a week or so, maybe longer if I can't get a hold of the parts too soon.” Sturges leaned against the workbench, picking up a small wrench and spinning it in his fingers idly.

 

“Thank you. I know I can rely on you for this.” Nate nodded politely to him, patting him on the shoulder.

 

“Sure can. Its getting a bit late and the skies looking a bit green. Might wanna stick about for the night and set out in the morning, unless you like getting caught in radstorms?” He motioned to the horizon where a green haze could be seen building up.

 

“I'll be in my house if you need me. Come get me when its food time, I’ll help with the cooking.” Nate turned to his house across the street from the Minutemen building, passing by Mama Murphy who had had her chair dragged out into the light where she could enjoy her chems with the sounds of nature. He hoped they wouldn’t forget about her and leave her napping in a thunderstorm. Again. She had not yet given Sturges the end of grief for that incident.

 

Danse turned to follow.

 

“Hey tincan, we got a frame for that over there. I suggest you give the core a rest, gonna run it dry the amount you use it.” Sturges pointed his wrench toward a power armour frame against the wall. The armour Preston had been looking at fondly sat next to it, badly damaged and with a layer of dust settled atop. It still had faint traces of pre-war markings and insignias on it.

 

“Thank you.” Danse stood in the frame, hitting the release. He stepped out, pulling out the fusion core and setting it aside before attaching the magnetic clasps and hoisting it up. He noted a few spots where it was worn down, making a mental note to have it repaired when they got back to Old Church. He could feel Sturges watching him the whole time.

 

“Before you go I wanted to talk to you about something.” Sturges kept his voice low, suggesting it was something to remain quiet about.

 

“You and Knight Nathan?” Danse clenched his jaw, an unfamiliar surge of strong jealousy stirring in his chest. His tone was cool and collected, unblinking as he watched Sturges act strange and unsettled.

 

“Just call him Nate, he doesn’t sound right with a title other than General. And yeah, I guess you already know about all that.” Sturges shuffled from foot to foot nervously, mirroring Prestons action only minutes ago. “There’s something else though. Important. And its kinda relate.. I need to trust you though, it really private and think you'll understand why.”

 

“You have my word, and I take my honour very seriously.” Danse watched him straighten up, a lot more confidence showing.

 

“Do you get headaches, really bad ones? Strong enough to take you outta work for most of a day? And weird nightmares you can't recall properly?”

 

“I do, sometimes, and I fail to see the relevance of that question.” There was a suspicion building on the edge of his thoughts.

 

“I used to get them. One day it was bad enough it knocked me clean out. Nate took me to see as many doctors as he could find, none of them could tell me a damn thing. He even had your guy Cade look me over. The only thing the docs could suggest was some kinda trauma I couldn’t recall. So he took me to this place called the Memory Den where they can make you un-forget stuff.” Sturges swallowed, looking around to be extra certain nobody was around. Danse could vaguely recall Knight Nathan getting in trouble for bringing a civilian aboard without proper authorisation. The suspicion grew brighter, scattered bits of information falling into place.

 

“And what did you find out?” Danse already knew, Sturges story matched the short version Nate had given him without the names attached. Nate had mentioned how he had being physically intimate with a synth after a bad incident involving a partially failed Railroad memory wipe.

 

“S2-56.” The way he said it was pained, like a guilty secret he hated keeping. Danse had to wonder if that was how he sounded when he spoke 'M7-97' aloud. “That's my synth number, from before the Railroad gave me a new life. I know what you're going through big guy, and it isn’t easy. I can remember my whole life, my family, friends I had growing up, and now I can remember where it actually started and everything I thought I knew was a lie to protect me. ” Sturges seemed almost relieved to have told someone.

 

Danse's brow arched as he processed this, words unable to form a proper response.

 

Sturges chose to continue, seeing Danse thinking it over silently.

 

“It was Nate that told me about you, back at the church during that bad day. He wanted me to talk to you about it, let you know that you can work through it and that you've got people ready to help you.”

 

Danse knew that it was Glory that had taken up the task of helping him with his condition, with her passing Nate must have considered Sturges the next best choice. He also knew that Nathan had not dealt with her death yet, putting it as far from his thoughts as he could until he had time to handle it. Too many times Nate had turned to where Glory usually sat, a question or witty comment dying on his lips when she wasn’t there to answer or make a sarcastic remark back. Deacon had done it too a few times, less than Nate as time went on. Deacon had practice with losing people. Danse had barely gotten to speak to her, but knew not knowing her was a missed opportunity.

 

“I appreciate the sentiment.” Danse hadn’t intended it to come out sounding so harsh, the wound was still very fresh and he tried very hard to not think about the fact he wasn’t human. “But what about you and Nathan?”

 

“I was hurtin' for a long while afterwards. He spent a lot of time looking after me, keeping my cover story up. Everyone thinks it was just me recovering from whatever those pods did to my head. I needed some human contact, he was frustrated 'cause his tincan wouldn’t love him back' and we just sort of went from there. He's my friend, that never changed even with what we did to keep the cold away on long nights.” Sturges blushed faintly under Danse's stony gaze. “He's properly in love with you and I wanna see him happy, so be good to him. He needs it. He's got a good heart underneath the crazy.”

 

“Thank you for trusting me with this. You have my discretion if I have yours.” Danse kept his tone and stance calm and professional, finding it difficult to put it into words that he was genuinely grateful.

 

“We're family technically, and you look out for and after family.” Sturges grinned at him, the gesture warm and trusting. “You better go after the General, he'll be wonderin' what's keeping you. If you want to talk about it, and don’t want to burden Nate I’ll listen if you ever need it.”

 

Danse just nodded, leaving Sturges to his work. He walked past the old lady resting comfortably on her large chair, her snoring loud enough that he thought he had finally found someone worse than Nathan. There was a mentats box sat on her lap, open and empty.

 

She snapped awake instantly, snatching Danses wrist and holding it with a surprisingly strong grip.

 

“Sentinel. No? Paladin.” Her eyes were glassy and far away, but Danse could tell she was looking at him. “Steel is forged by flame and by hammer. Two traitors, one leads a march to war, the other makes the music of battle. The Brothers and Sisters of the round table king will feel the fire and the ashes as they fall from the heavens and shatter upon the ground.” She frowned as if understanding something unpleasant. “I'm sorry, just the rambling of an old woman losing her marbles. Ignore me.”

 

He pulled away from her and hurried to Nates home, a cold shudder running through him like he was being prickled by some unseen force.

 

Mama Murphy watched him go, the disquiet tangible around him rippling the surface of a mind accustomed to being still and certain. She could feel the General nearby, his presence was like the apex of a grenade going off trapped and contained in a single repeating moment. So much noise, so much conflict, and one day that moment would end.

 

She could see the fire Nate lit in the Paladin, and the peace Danse gave to his Knight. She only wished they had come together at a better time.

 

The moment of clarity was already gone and the touch of her mind retreated from the world. There was no chems left to chase after it with. She had seen fire and betrayal. Danse driving a knife into a Railroad agent, disgust harsh and vivid on his face. She saw the General grinning, vicious and victorious as the sky blackened and the horizon burned. She saw the Paladin looking down the sights of a weapon of righteous judgement at Nathan, fury and loss in his heart as he pulled the trigger. The rest was vague, indistinct, she could make out that same weapon hitting Sturges in the chest as he charged in to defend the General, falling as he was struck and pushing them both into the ash.

 

A thick dread sat over it all, a feeling that these events were not to be interfered with.

 

Sturges returned to his work feeling a lot happier and lighter, opening the folder he had been given with a sigh as that feeling evaporated. There was plans and notes haphazardly taped together, all in Nates awful handwriting.

 

He knew better then to question what a chain of mini-nukes wired to a handheld radio detonator would be used for. It was the second schematic that really worried him.

 

Magnetic breaching bombs that needed to puncture very thick, very lightweight and very resistant alloy. They had stealthboys built in, and were remotely detonated like the mini-nuke chain. There was a small scrap of paper amongst the plans, folded up and held in place by a paperclip.

 

He unfolded it, laid it flat and smoothed the creases. He read it, tore it up and fed it into the burning barrel of dried wood nearby as it instructed. He now knew what the magnetic bombs were meant to breach.

 

Under it was an instruction underlined several times with far too many exclamation points.

 

'Don't tell Danse.'

 

Mama Murphy watched him, a heaviness in her heart as she felt the shape of the words as he read them. She could still see the Prydwen burning, falling, an army of metal men with brilliant yellow eyes parting as Nate strode tall and proud. It was the harvest to come that Sturges was planting the seeds for.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mama Murphys abilities have been exaggerated slightly for dramatic purposes. Her rambling reveals present time secrets and the events of the near future. Also is this timeline she still has her powers and her addictions, Nate just convinced her to tone it down. 
> 
> Also Sturges. He should have been a romance option in FO4. Sturges' headaches, remembering his past and knowing he's a synth was originally planned to be a bigger part, I wanted to write whole flashback chapters but couldn't justify using up another 10000 words or likely more on backstory that isn't too vital to present events. He was the bridge between Nate having an immature crush on Danse to him realising there was genuinely feelings for his CO.


	23. Tea for Two as Promised

Day 12 since the Incident at Listening Post Bravo.

 

 

 

 

Danse was awoken a little after midnight by Nate gently nudging him and repeating his name. Something cold and metallic was prodded into his cheek, an attempt made to swat it away.

 

They had both immediately gone to bed after their arrival, the day wearing on them a lot harder then they had expected. Nate had gotten up an hour and a half ago to help prepare food, leaving Danse behind in the large bed. He had returned now and was trying to get his attention.

 

Rain could be heard pattering against the roof and window boards. Nate had always liked the sound, it was soothing enough to put him to sleep if he let it. There were days he would sit on the fore of the Prydwen and just listen to the grand echo it made against the hull. They had last done that on the tail end of spring, all of Gladius team sat with a thermos of recaf and just enjoyed the company. Even Rhys had been pleasant. That last deluge had turned the wilderness into a mire, not as enjoyable when they had to trudge through it.

 

Danse wished he could enjoy it. He knew just how well the sound could mask the approach of raiders and hide ambushes. Rain made his paranoia prickle.

 

Nate's home was nice by wasteland standards. The windows had been boarded up, the debris and dust swept away and the two centuries old furniture had been restored with care. There was still traces of the original inhabitants, a certificate from a university and a few faded photographs in frames dotted the walls. One of the men in the pictures bore a striking resemblance to Nate but with more years on him, further fuelling Danse's theory that this had been his home a very long time ago. The place felt familiar to him, every little detail felt like Nate could have lived there.

 

The only thing that felt out of place was a portrait, framed and proud on the wall. It was a terrifying thing, painted entirely in shades of red, black and ochre depicting Nate with his feral grin wreathed in flames. It was signed with a small message from the artist 'A gift dear Killer, P' with a small heart. He dreaded to think what the history of that piece was.

 

Homeplate had not felt like a home, to Danse it felt like it was a place for Nate to stash equipment and tinker with technology without the Brotherhood breathing down their neck about it. Red Rocket was a neutral location he had secured, his suspicion that it was for meeting with his more unsavoury allies away from prying eyes. He knew about the ghoul, the Railroad agent, the Gunner sniper, the chem junkie arena fighter, and if the whispered rumours he had overheard in Railroad HQ were true then there was also the supermutant he had somehow managed to tame. The last one he strongly believed were more of Deacon's stories and had no actual basis in truth. Danse had to wonder if he fell into the unsavoury characters profile now: a disgraced soldier and part of a reviled group of abominable artificial lifeforms.

 

Danse rolled over, brushing Nate's hand away with a groan. He propped himself upright on his elbows and blinked away the blurriness. Something smelled good, his appetite hitting him instantly.

 

Nate had a set a bowl of hot stew and a glass of purified water down on the bedside table.

 

“I saved you some.” Nate beamed happily as Danse gently snatched the spoon to stop him being poked insistently in the face by it. “I would have woken you up earlier but I figured you needed the rest.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

Nate sat on the bed and just watched him eat.

 

This had been his bedroom once, Nora moving in when her own room was repurposed for their son. He tried banishing the memory the instant he caught himself thinking it, focusing on the present.

 

So much of his memory had been lost over the centuries. What hadn’t insisted on being too loud, too often.

 

He couldn’t recall his fathers name, his own birthday, the name of the last town he had been deployed to during the Canadian insurrections, but the abraxo jingle from the adverts was still as fresh as the day he first heard it and so was a few too many of the bad days from his deployment. There was probably so many other things unnoticed because he had no reason to observe their absence. There was also his own name. He had only realised that had vanished when Cade asked for his surname to go on the records. He had confidently went to say it and come up blank.

 

Codsworth had it stored in his memory banks, ordered never to utter it. It was also buried under whatever else Nora had done to him when he was first activated. Codsworth for the first week called him a delightfully broad array of unflattering names to her amusement. He could still recall Codsworth floating in and asking 'would you like a fresh scone Fuckface' which had Nora howling with laughter. It was only when Nate had protested did she reset the name back to Nathan.

 

He liked the fresh start that came with being just Nate, or Knight Nathan, or The General, or Charmer. Family titles had expectations, and likely had records tied to them. He didn’t like the idea of the Brotherhood digging up his records and scrutinising them, or worse trying to dig them up and finding nothing if that should be the case. That appointment with the memory den was still looming on his horizon.

 

His old life was just a chain of responsibilities and consequences that had somehow survived even nuclear fire.

 

Danse must have seen the turmoil playing on his features, he deliberately dropped the spoon into his bowl with a loud clattering of metal on ceramic. It was enough to break Nate from his thoughts. He put his hand onto Nate's and squeezed lightly, the faint, reassuring smile putting his worry to rest.

 

With a contented sigh Nate leaned his head against Danse's shoulder, his eyes finding themselves heavy and his breaths getting steadily deeper.

 

Finishing his food and downing half of his water he put the bowl back on the bedside table and gently lifted Nate off of him, pulling his shirt over his head as he mumbled and protested sleepily.

 

He fell easily into sleep once under the covers, curling up small against Danse's chest whilst the taller Paladin held onto him and stroked his hair. He still found it so strange to sleep with someone so close, the nearest he had ever come to this was sharing a small field tent with the rest of Gladius team; Rhys, Haylen and Nathan in their own sleeping bags even if they were virtually pressed into one another.

 

This was different and unfamiliar, but not in any way unpleasant. He could get used to it easily, he would just have to deal with how heavily and loudly Nate breathed in his sleep. There was also the matter of the sleep talking, he would sometimes say random phrases in his sleep. The Knights that had shared a barracks with him had discovered this quickly, Rhys especially found it irritating and would often take night watch or police station duty so he could be asleep during the day or away entirely where it wasn’t an issue.

 

He hadn’t told Nate that he knew about him and Sturges. That was a conversation to be had in the morning. He wasn’t even certain it needed mentioning, he trusted that it was all in the past. He pulled Nate just a little closer, feeling perhaps the slightest bit territorial and irritated at himself for being so. It was that same feeling he got when somebody outside of Gladius touched, or worse modified, his power armour.

 

If Nate had been awake he probably would have laughed at the sour, sleepy expression on his Paladins face, a sly smile and a remark about how 'adorable' it was coming easily to him. Danse would have blushed and remarked that it was an inappropriate and wildly inaccurate description.

 

After a little while of holding onto his soldier and wrestling with his thoughts Danse fell back asleep, well fed, warm and contented.

 

 

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

 

 

Codsworth floated in come morning, switching on the lights and tugging at the covers to wake them up.

 

“Good morning sirs, I do hope you've both had a pleasant rest.” Nate could never bring himself to dislike Codsworth; he was beacon of civility in a very uncivilised world. What he couldn’t abide by was how boisterous and cheerful he was during mornings. He had asked for him to be less happy during the early hours. Apparently General Atomics only programmed a small range of tones he could use and his protocols prevented him from being anything but courteous and jovial in that situation.

 

“It was adequate for my needs.” Danse tried to sit upright, Nate putting a hand against his chest and pushing him back down insistently. Danse felt Nate curl up against his side, muttering something that could be interpreted as 'tell Codsworth to bugger off would you' against his neck.

 

“Would the sirs like tea, or coffee perhaps? I do have some freshly made mutfruit scones I prepared if that would suit you? And we have fresh cream to go with it too.” Codsworth bobbed up and down gently in the air, two of his three eyes focused on them.

 

“Tea will do just fine, if you would pack up the scones for travel that would be appreciated.” He felt an attempt at muttering against his skin, too little energy to spare to make actual sounds or words. “I suggest waiting a half hour before bringing the tea, I think Nathan wishes to sleep in a little longer.” He felt a hum of agreement from him.

 

“I'll go ready that for you sirs, a strong brew to rouse the master. Thirty minute timer set.” Codsworth floated back out, sliding the door closed behind him.

 

Nate pressed a kiss to Danse's shoulder before slipping back to sleep near instantly.

 

He allowed him a little whiles rest with the only sound the faint clatter in the main room of silverware and of a kettle being put to heat.

 

“Come on Soldier, we have responsibilities to deal with.” Danse couldn’t help but feel happy as Nate pulled up as close to him as possible in protest. He let him burrow into the bed covers, stroking the top of his head tenderly before giving him a soft shake.

 

Nate cracked open a single eye and glared up at him with it.

 

“Responsibilities can go to hell, at least for a little longer.”

 

“Up. That's an order.” Danse sat upright, folding his arms over his chest and putting on his commanding officer voice.

 

“I'm a Paladin too now if you've forgotten. Can't order me about anymore.”

 

“I thought you liked being ordered about? If we're the same rank I guess no more of that then.” Danse did his best to mimic Nates petulance.

 

Nate's eyes shot open instantly.

 

“You're being a bastard right now and you know it.” He rolled onto his back, apathetically throwing the covers away.

 

“I have no idea what you mean by that. I'm an orphan so by definition I cannot be a bastard, my parentage is unconfirmed.” Danse just smiled at him. Nate made a mental note to tell Deacon to stop being such a terrible influence on his Paladin. In that moment Danse had forgotten that chunk of his history was a falsehood and Nate wasn’t going to remind him. “Get up.”

 

“Make me, sir.” The way he rolled the world 'sir' off his tongue made Danse shiver, full of arrogance and challenge.

 

“Insubordination. We have ways of ensuring co-operation from our soldiers.”

 

Danse scooped Nate up in his strong arms and dropped him onto his lap.

 

Nate blinked, momentarily stunned before the situation and his position registered with his sluggish thoughts. Fingers were dug harshly into his hips, Nate making an undignified noise. He wrapped his legs around Danse, pulling himself a little closer in response. Adrenaline pumped through him, heartbeat quickening until it pounded in his ears.

 

The former Paladin brought a hand up through his partners hair and grasped at the top of his head, pulling back with just the right measure of authority and exposing his neck. He kissed along his pulse, leaving the faintest of bites on the junction of neck and shoulder. Nate shuddered against him, his pride the only reason he wasn’t whimpering for more.

 

With a smirk Nate ground down against Danse.

 

Danse responded with a frustrated growl.

 

Their mouths met aggressively, a sharp nip against his lip warning Nate just how pent up he was.

 

“Tea for two as promised.” Codsworth opened the door and floated in with a tray, two fine china cups, a small silver bowl with pale blue powder inside, a silver jug of brahmin milk and a steaming teapot. “I'm afraid I’ve yet to get ahold of cane sugar so all we have is refined mutfruit sugars, I hope that isn’t a problem.”

 

“No, the sugar isn’t a problem Codsworth.” Nate spoke through clenched teeth. They had both frozen in place, hearts pounding against their chests for fear of someone walking in on them. This was not the first time someone had interrupted him in that room. He unhooked his ankles and fell backwards onto the bed and off of Danse, letting a frustrated sigh through his nose.

 

“Delightful to hear sir.” Codsworth poured the first tea, adding a small measure of milk and a precise two and quarter spoonfuls of the sugar alternative to it. “How does other sir have their tea?”

 

Danse picked his shirt off the floor and slipped it over his head.

 

“Black, single sugar.” The tone were clipped and terse.

 

“Right away sir.”

 

Codsworth poured it and offered it to him with a manipulator arm. He took it, the robot either oblivious to the tension or ignoring it.

 

“Thank you. You can go now.” Danse tried not to let his annoyance bleed into his voice.

 

“We will be having guests in the next few minutes, I suggest the sirs get dressed. Wouldn’t want to be caught undressed by your associates now would we? How undignified.” Codsworth laughed mirthfully as he left them in peace.

 

The mood was gone.

 

Awkward silence descended quickly, Danse breaking it before it became too heavy. He made no outward indication whether he could hear Nate grinding his teeth.

 

“Breakfast?”

 

“I think I could do with a cigarette.”

 

“You smoke?” Danse furrowed his brow, ready to tell him off for ruining his lungs and compromising his combat efficiency. It was not a common habit amongst the Brotherhood, at least openly. Knight-Captain Cade had personally lead a crusade against it. Maxson had even publically given up his habit, instructing his men to take his lead and defy their vices. Most just smoked in secret. Maxson smoked after the very bad days in his quarters rather than on the tip of the forecastle.

 

“After that I just might pick up the habit.” The snorted laugh had just enough humour behind it to clear the air. “I just feel like having something in my mouth, what I was expecting to put in there isn’t on the menu anymore.”

 

Nate was wiggling his eyebrows in a suggestive way.

 

Danse picked up his clothing, his backpack and his cup of strong tea and went out into the main room without saying a word.The chattering laughter trailed after him. He didn’t dignify that with a response either.

 

 

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

 

 

 

Nate took several minutes to get himself vaguely upright and acceptable. He finished his cup of tea, downed his morning medicine and threw on a spare set of clothes. The headaches were sporadic and fleeting now, time without use of the device diminishing its effects exactly like he had expected it to. When he was back in the field he would be using the chameleon armour exactly as much as he wanted to.

 

He brushed his teeth, noting his tin of that strange off colour paste the Brotherhood gave out in ration packs was running terribly low. He had never liked the stuff, it tasted like what mint would if it was created by someone who had only ever read a description of the flavour in a book. Danse swore by the stuff and Nate certainly thought his smile was dazzling. Nate was personally certain it was the only reason his own Nuka Quantum habit hadn’t left him with less teeth than Mama Murphy.

 

By the time Nate had finished morning grooming, which included swearing at how blunt his shaving razor had become, his house had filled up with people waiting for breakfast. He envied the fact Danse rarely ever needed to shave, his hair grew at a glacial pace and was easy enough to maintain. Glory had mentioned a few times that she could style her hair and shave in patterns in brilliant ways and have it stay pristine for weeks. Curie had noted something similar.

 

He thought to ask Glory to style Danses hair, she was as phenomenal with a set of clippers and a razorblade as she was with a heavy gun and a good knife. She often kept his mess to something acceptable enough to pass Brotherhood standards. With a cold surge from heart to mind he remembered why that wouldn’t be happening.

 

Codsworth was cooking whilst whistling an upbeat tune. Machine and owner alike had always wondered why he had been given the means to whistle when he clearly didn’t have lips. Nate had offered him a synth body if he ever wanted to try real whistling, Codsworth politely declining.

 

Danse was sat on the couch talking with Sturges, the Longs were at the counter on stools talking with Preston, and Mama Murphy was patiently waiting for the cup of herbal tea Codsworth was offhandedly making her. He had insisted it was a recipe marked in his memory as good for the immune system, vital in her advancing years and with a body ravaged by chems.

 

Sturges had been laughing heavily, his face was reddened, with tears in the corner of his eyes and a wide grin shining out. Danse seemed almost cheerful with a brief, sharp laugh at whatever Sturges had responded with. There was something in their laughter that made Nate nervous. He knew that laugh.

 

Minutemen were in and out every few minutes, collecting their food from Codsworth who carefully wrapped it up in paper and string for them to eat out on patrol. One of the packages was marked 'Duncan' and delivered up to the snipers lookout on the top of the hill.

 

It wasn’t quite the mess hall of the Prydwen but the atmosphere was close enough. Nate stopped to just enjoy it for a moment. It wasn’t Gladius, but it was close enough for him to almost pretend. He missed those mornings where everything was right and in its proper place. The freshly returned late night mission teams slumped near dead at a table waiting for the call to debriefing, the frantic rush of Scribes, Gladius in their spot in harmonious silence, the thrum of engines and that bitter, sharp smell of recaf almost drowning out the mechanical grease.

 

It brought a sad smile to his lips remembering.

 

Danse must have felt it too given how he had seemingly opened up. He had to wonder if maybe the Paladin could have been a Minuteman in different circumstances. If everything failed and they all burnt at least Danse might survive and maybe that would still be an option for him.

 

He flopped down onto the couch between Danse and Sturges, a raised eyebrow shot at each of them in turn.

 

“Finally decided to join us?” The former Paladin raised an eyebrow in return.

 

“A warm spot between two handsome gentlemen, how could I resist?” The cheeky smile deflated as Danse faintly scowled back at him, turning to Sturges he was trying very hard to look anywhere but at either of them. Nate took a moment to decipher its meaning, a cold shiver running up his spine as he realised. “Ah. You've been sharing my history. There isn't a problem is there?”

 

“Not with that. I find it strange that you're sudden shift in attitude coincided with your...” Danse tried to find the right word for polite company. “...dalliances with Sturges here.”

 

Danse was slowly starting to piece together the last year of Knight Nathans life. It certainly painted an interesting picture, and went a long way to explaining some of his stranger behaviour. He had thought Knight strange anyway, a mix of personality quirks and two centuries out of date social standards. The old world had been a place of casual excess, and Nate was certainly casually excessive in a lot of what he did.

 

He hadn’t thought anything strange about how Nate acted toward him until he had been forced to reveal his true intentions. He had even flirted with Rhys just to see that horrified expression, and sometimes he would use the most terrible of endearments for Haylen. He had once called her some grossly sweet endearment too awful even for her patience, her wrath putting a stop to that for the immediate future. He vaguely remembered it being something like 'honey, sugar, daffodil, darling' and was infinitely glad that Nate had never given him some disgustingly affectionate pet name.

 

Nate took a breath and tried to collect his thoughts. That short time in his life had been hectic. Shaun had thrown everything out of balance, forcing him to take time to put his priorities in a new order.

 

There was too much to explain and too many things that needed to not be spoken about to do so. With a convincing smirk and an arrogant look he gave Danse enough of the truth to satisfy him.

 

“I had thought I was in lust with you. Two hundred years is a pretty long dry spell and you were everything I found attractive in a guy. Once I got myself out of that rut thanks to Sturges here...” He patted Sturges lap and got a sharp swallow and embarrassed bite of his lip in return. “...I realised I still couldn’t stop thinking about you. That shift in attitude was me deciding to take my duties seriously and try putting those feelings behind me. There’s nothing worse than pinning after someone who'll never love you back.”

 

Danse noticed the slightest shift in Sturges, the brief twitch of hurt in his expression. He had to wonder if his flippant attitude toward those sort of feelings had any more casualties out there. Nate was blind to the whole thing, not even a shred of an idea that there might have once been something.

 

It dawned on Danse that this must be how everyone else must have felt when he was being oblivious to Knight Nathan. Danse had learnt since that Haylen and Rhys had been aware of Nates infatuation and had chosen not to inform him. If he ever got the chance he was going to express his displeasure at them both.

 

Nate's brow furrowed at the expression Danse had pulled, momentarily lost in his thoughts and yet to respond.

 

“That couldn’t have been an easy situation for you to be in. I let myself grow close to you even when decorum prohibited it and I’ve never been very good at understanding my own feelings. I think eventually I might have realised that maybe you were more than just a comrade and friend, but I doubt I would have acted upon it.”

 

“Wouldn’t that be a tragedy. Both of you in love but too dense to see it and too stubborn to admit it.” Sturges let a short laugh free. “You'd be going around in circles like that forever.”

 

“Enough time and I would have gotten over it. I think.” Nate sounded a lot less sure of himself than he had expected to be. “So you're not jealous are you?”

 

Danse shook his head at the question.

 

“I'm fully capable of being reasonable and mature about this. Having a shared history has helped us get to know each other on a better footing. We have a lot more in common than I would have thought.”

 

Nate looked at him with suspicion, then to Sturges to confirm. The nod he got confirmed that Danse knew about him being a synth.

 

“We've been sharing stories.” Sturges piped up, the knowing grin unnerving him. Danse allowed a small smile, his eyes lighting up in a way that Nate almost thought could be mischief.

 

Nate blanched when he realised. He had made great efforts to keep the stupid things he did in his various lives separate. The only person who vaguely had an idea of the vast scope of his mistakes was Deacon, and he had kept surprisingly quiet on the topic. Or had managed to convince everyone he had told to keep quiet, he never could be certain with Deacon.

 

“Getting trapped in powered down armour and needing to be cut out?” Danse spoke, watching Nates brow furrow deeply and his jaw set as he shot Sturges an accusatory look. The power had failed on his armour during testing and all servos had seized including the release mechanism. Preston and Sturges had to carve open the power system and rig up a generator to it to get him out. It took the better part of a day. Codsworth had to spoon feed him lunch whilst the Minutemen tried very hard and failed to be respectful and sensitive to the situation.

 

“Magnetising yourself to the outer hull of your airship for an hour and a half until the they could fly a 'bird close enough to disable it?” Nate turned the look back on Danse. He had thought they were never to discuss that failed armour modification again. He was trying to make it so he could walk up metal surfaces, the whole suit had magnetised instead and pinned him in place on the outside of the ship. He had never seen Haylen laugh so hard in his life. Rhys had photographic evidence.

 

“Accidentally giving a brahmin Psycho?” He was supposed to give it Rad-X and picked up the wrong vial to put into its feed. Curie had been experimenting with it to see if it could be refined into something usable for increasing the survival rate of invasive surgery. One mislabelling accident and Nate had discovered he could run marginally faster than a deranged wall of muscle and screaming that would one day be delicious steaks.

 

“Nearly sleepwalking off the flight deck?” That had only happened once out of the two times he had done it, and Haylen had managed to wake him up at the last moment. The other time he had somehow ended up in Maxsons quarters. The Elder had been surprisingly understanding about it, taking it with good humour.

 

Nate raised a hand to interrupt before turning and pointing accusingly.

 

“The first time you wore power armour you tried to cover your face sneezing and hit yourself hard enough to break your nose.” Nate glared at Danse before turning on Sturges. “And you. You borrowed my armour for a joyride, fell into the river and needed to be fished out because you couldn’t climb the sides.”

 

“I get the hint now General. We'll stop.” Sturges was grinning ear to ear. There was more stories, so many more, but those would have to wait.

 

“It is perhaps a little unfair for us both to be pressing him so hard.” Danse felt a little embarrassed. His chest was light and bubbly, laughter threatening to spill out.

 

In that moment before he composed himself and put away the joy and lightness Nate thought to himself just how handsome Danse was.

 

Danse realised with a slight frown that the broken nose was a very old story, and oddly enough one he had never shared with any of Gladius. Nate had gotten that information from someone else. Brandis was going to get a stern few words when they got back to HQ.

 

“The pair of you pressing hard against me sounds like my idea of a good evening.” Nate stuck out his tongue between his teeth cheekily, deflecting the conversation as hard as he could.

 

Both of them put their hand to their face to hide the embarrassment at his flippant nature. It amused Nate to no end how similar they could be.

 

“I'd genuinely forgotten how shameless you were. You're as terrible as a summer day is long.” Sturges just sighed as the colour faded from his cheeks. He knew Nate wasn’t being serious about it.

 

“Can't a man innocently suggest a threesome without being accused of being terrible?” Nate tutted at him. “I'm a simple man, with simple tastes. Like being sandwiched between two very well built, dark haired, mechanically minded gentlemen for many, many hours at a time.”

 

“By the creator.” Danse shook his head at it all. “You are the one guiding all of our futures. How does Deacon put? We're all going to get totally screwed.”

 

There was a heartbeat of silence as Nate processed this, bad Deacon imitation and all.

 

“That's the plan if I have any say in it.” His reply came a moment late, still stunned. The awful eyebrow wiggle was back.

 

“If you want my opinion General you are completely shameless.” Preston had stopped his own conversation and leaned over into theirs. That was a less than subtle hint that some things were not open for discussion in polite company.

 

“Shush you. No butting in, unless you're angling for this to be a foursome Garvey.” The smirk was instantly back in place.

 

“Generous offer, but I think I’ll have to decline.” Preston just smiled thinly at him. He was one of the few people Nate had encountered thus far he couldn’t get a rise out of no matter how hard he tried. He was too good humoured and too level headed. One of the others was Maxson, but he had tried it once and only once. That was mistake never to be repeated.

 

“Yeah don’t drag me into this either.” Sturges added perhaps a little half heartedly. “You two have a good thing going, im not going to but in where I ain’t needed.”

 

The door slammed open, Danse and Nate instantly to the feet and with weapons raised. The Minuteman who had barged in threw his hands up in surrender. They both lowered their weapons.

 

“General.” He saluted. “We just got a message from the Castle, and they relayed it from your other associates. I think its in a code of some kind.”

 

“Go on.”

 

“Immediate recall of Liberty and Charmer. Jacks friends have been attacked by Liberty's old employer, Death Bunny has not reported back, unconfirmed report of captured.” The Minuteman repeated it from the scrap of paper he was holding.

 

“Are you certain that’s accurate?”

 

“Transcribed twice upon receiving at every step.” Standard procedure to do every radio message twice for confirmation before passing it along. He already knew it was accurate.

 

“Death Bunny, I don't recognise the codename.” Danse had memorized most of the field agent names whilst helping Desdemona organise their tactical response to the Institutes surge in activity.

 

“Deacon. He uses several. How the hell did he get captured?” Nate had seen Deacon evade danger with the quick grace of a natural athlete. He always seemed to be where the bullets were not, and was always two steps ahead of everyone else.

 

“Where would they take him?” Nate turned to Danse.

 

“Cambridge Station. There's a full days quarantine for any prisoner before they're moved, can't risk a viral or chemical attack being brought aboard the Prydwen. Such a confined space makes that type of attack ideal so we take extra precautions and have protocols set up to prevent that eventuality.”

 

Nate and Sturges had fallen foul of those protocols once.

 

“He was captured either yesterday evening or this morning. It'll take the rest of the day to return to HQ, and longer still to rally forces to mount a rescue. We simply don't have the time.” Something behind Nate's eyes shifted, a plan falling into place. He evidently didn’t like it. His hand came up to one of his pouches, clutching it with concern.

 

“I need you to trust me and follow my lead without question.” The way he looked at Danse made him unsettled.

 

“I can do that.”

 

“General, is there anything the Minutemen can do?” Preston was ready to follow them if he needed to. He prided himself on being ready at a minutes notice.

 

“No. I’ll be monitoring our frequency though, anything develops or that I need to know put it on there.” He grabbed his armour. “Sturges, I’m going to need your help.”

 

Nate was up and out the door, Danse and Sturges right behind him.

 

“Anything in particular?”

 

“We need to get my old armour painted up and looking battleready in a hurry.” He pointed to the set of T-45 that had last been used at Concord. It had seen little use since. “I have a plan to bust Deacon out of jail without anybody suspecting it was us.”

 

Nate had that smile again, the one that made the mechanic think of an approaching hurricane. Danse had never liked it either.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was at one point going to be two, but when I cut it up during editing I found them both a bit short and didn't want to just needlessly pad them both out. I waffle and go off on tangents enough without adding more to fill space. Everything after Codsworth interrupts and Danse walks away from Nate being awfully immature was going to be called 'A few shared stories'. I figured one fairly long chapter was better than two fairly short ones with padding.
> 
> On the whole Sturges/Nate side I just want to say the Sturges doesn't have any actual romantic feelings for Nate. He at one point thought he did, but it was more just the desire for a connection after the memory den. Danse misreads him badly there.  
> As much as I love Sturges/M!sole they were never going to get together in this fic. Once I'm done with Time Later I have ideas for something more involving him, but most definitely not set in this little tangent universe where all four canon endings are happening at the same time in the wrong order.
> 
> There are bits of this chapter I love, and others that feel like they need work. It seems the further through I get with editing the less happy I am and the more I find myself struggling to fix. Either my standards are getting tighter or the later chapters need more work. At this rate day 21 is going to be gibberish, more so than it currently is.
> 
> Last thought, I'm vaguely posting a chapter every other week. Not as often as the goal I set myself but not the worst i've been.


	24. Are You Certain? Quite.

Day 12 since the incident at Listening Post Bravo

 

 

 

 

Midnight had just come and come as Deacon approached the Atom Cats base. He had spent the day dealing with a myriad of other little tasks and was looking forward to getting this part over and being back at HQ by dawn. He had filled the water tank and was looking forward to a shower, the indulgently long ones that taxed the power source on the heater.

 

Drummer had tailed along with him part of the way before going his own way. They had one of their quiet, private talks about the future, and what to do about Glory. Funeral arrangements were on hold indefinitely, her remains in storage where they would not be disturbed. Drummer Boy hadn’t said it aloud but the suspicion was there, that he wanted to be certain Deacon got there alive and well after too many close calls with the promise of more to come.

 

His various sources had been checked out, little new information gained other than sightings of Coursers getting readily more common and the Brotherhood clashing with them on a regular basis. The fighting was thus far sticking to the outlying areas but was slowly but surely creeping into the city itself. The Brotherhood had established an artillery station somewhere within Cambridge, cordoning off whole streets and setting up watch towers. It was somewhere to the south of the station, very little Intel otherwise reaching them. Hypothetically it could hit Diamond city, and that was a worrying prospect.

 

Deacon was quietly concerned about the escalation of attacks on all sides. Carrington was having a field day with it, pushing for a more aggressive stance whilst Des simply pressed forward with 'her' plan. The fact she was all aboard with what Charmer had planned was strange, Deacon was certain she had a contingency in place for if and when things went wrong.

 

Desdemona was being typically vague with the other safehouses, pulling the compartmentalisation excuse to get out of informing them just what else she was up to. Drummer Boy had been out too often as of late, all he had said is that it was on Des' orders and could not elaborate further. Deacon was left uneasy by it all, he liked being able to know what was going on so he could be somewhere else when it went wrong.

 

He could see The Brotherhood showing their teeth and the Institute couldn’t afford distractions. This put the Railroad right in the path of both of them, and with their numbers so low by comparison they really didn’t stand a chance.

 

He had never admitted it aloud but he thought Charmers plan was both insane and the best chance they had. Desdemona obviously trusted it enough to put it front and centre.

 

“Hold on up over there.”

 

Deacon raised his gun into the air at the shouting voice. A guy in flame decalled power armour trudged over to him, keeping a gun pointed at him cautiously.

 

There hadn’t been guards at the gate before. There had barely been a gate, or walls.

 

“Its me, D-Cat. Don't tell me you all forgot about me already?” Deacon kept his pace, strolling in through the wire gates. The guard kept his gun raised looking toward their leader for advice.

 

“Been way too long, where you hide yourself?” Zeke came strolling out in his full armour, a rifle hanging loose at its side. He nodded to the guard, who shrugged in response and went back to the entrance.

 

“Been busy. Miss me?” Deacon noticed that there was a lot more atom cats than the handful he remembered. There was lots of little shacks and tents set up and the place was bustling even at the late hour. There was a fire surrounded by people, passing drinks between themselves and laughing happily.

 

“Miss you, never. Lot of work, lot of new people. Its been great here.”

 

“I heard Jack had something to do with this?”

 

“You know Jack?” A raised eyebrow and a cocked head.

 

“We're good friends. Guys got my back if I ever need it.” Deacon liked the way they just opened up to him at the mention of the name.

 

“You don’t say. Guy did us a solid by patching this place up and teaching us a few tricks. Even brought some new cats into the family.” Zeke motioned around to the people.

 

“Dressed up nice with nowhere to go.” Deacon pointed to the power armour.

 

“Brotherhood squares cramping our style. Been around here a lot, makin' threats.”

 

“So you've got a problem with the Brotherhood. Have I got good news for you then. Somewhere we can talk on the sly?”

 

Zeke motioned to the repair bay inside the garage. Deacon followed.

 

Rowdy was at the bench working on something when they lifted the shutters and climbed under, closing it behind them.

 

“D-Cat, been way too long.” Rowdy smiled across at him. Deacon tipped his sunglasses and gave a sly wink to her, getting a flash of a smile back.

 

“Shoot the breeze later, we got something important to chat about. Guessing Jack's involved?” Zeke turned to Deacon and gave him an expectant look.

 

Deacon took a moment to disengage his armour, the power having failed only a few minute ago. He hadn’t expected it to be so hard to keep moving on only the emergency power supply.

 

“Brotherhoods been a lot less than cool lately and he's got a plan. We need a lot of guys and gals in tincans ready to show a little muscle, make it known we ain’t going to take the boot heel of a bunch of squares any longer.” Deacon grinned widely at the pair.

 

Zeke and Rowdy looked at each other, a moment of agreement passing between them.

 

“We're down for that. Just tell us when and where?”

 

“A week and half from now, with a day or so wiggle room. This has got to stay on the down low, can't risk it getting back to them and starting a war. We've got the where sorted, but we ain’t telling anybody until we have to.”

 

“Fair enough. Make sure to tell Jack he's still not the coolest cat around.”

 

“I will.” Deacon smirked for a moment and then stopped, listening. “You hear that?”

 

“Sounds like 'bird rotors. Looks like it go time.” Rowdy tilted her head to listen, recognising it and calling it. “Only two 'birds, but the engines struggling so its got a few too many aboard.”

 

Deacon felt a surge of faint pride, he was the reason the Brotherhood was having to pull double duty on the remaining functional vertibirds.

 

“You got a spare core for this?” Deacon tapped his armour, standing slumped over in the middle of the garage.

 

“We're waiting for a shipment of 'em any day now.” Rowdy shrugged apologetically. Deacon just drew his pistol, hoping he wouldn’t need the armour with so many Atom Cats around to shelter behind.

 

Zeke threw open the garage shutters.

 

“Alright, every cat to their tincans. The squares are coming to take 'em away!” Zeke, raising his voice and his rifle proudly.

 

The camp burst into movement and activity. Floodlights were aimed out into the darkness, the campfires were extinguished, crates and barrels were stacked into makeshift barricades all with the kind of speed the 'ready at a minutes notice' Minutemen would be proud of.

 

There was a screech of static and the whining sound of a speaker tuning.

 

“Last chance to surrender your unauthorised technology to the Brotherhood.” There was a loudspeaker rigged up to one of the vertibirds, Deacon certain that there was something he ought to remember from Danses rambling on about them.

 

“Counteroffer. You can go get bent.” Zeke shouted into the night, roughly where they'd seen the vertibirds set down.

 

He ducked aside just as a stream of red lights came careening toward him.

 

“Guess they're trying to haggle up for a better offer.” Deacon laughed as he drew his own pistol. “Show 'em a proper negotiation.”

 

“Hey what their battlecry again. Also Victras? Something like that”

 

“Ad Victoriam?” Deacon shrugged.

 

“Ad Victoriam!” He yelled as he threw a grenade out from behind cover in their rough direction.

 

“Pretty sure that'll piss 'em off something fierce.”

 

Deacon turned toward the even marching of feet, a wall of battered metal plates and car doors approaching in step.

 

He had a moment of recollection, the tactic one he had seen during his time in New Vegas. The turtle formation of Caesars Legion fame, a wall of armour to advance and shoot out from behind.

 

“Where'd you pick that trick up?”

 

“Jacks idea. We got a couple of Legion deserters amongst the new cats, they taught us how to do it.”

 

“You trust Caesars Legion guys?” Deacon raised his eyebrow. He had seen the brutality of the Legion first hand; the highways lined with the captured and crucified as far as the eye could see, chained slave convoys that stretched to the horizon. The Railroad was about freedom and peace for all people, the right to choose how to live without fear of persecution. The Legion was fuelled by slavery and war, identity crushed by duty.

 

“Ex-Caesars Legion guys. We don’t harsh 'em for it, let past be past. It plain to see they follow the rule of cool, not the rule of caesar.” Zeke lifted his head out of cover.

 

The formation was actually working. Energy weapons were meant to harm flesh; they had a hard time piercing a car door and then a suit of power armour.

 

Deacon could hear somebody amongst it ordering them forward. The voice was one accustomed to command, though it was painfully obvious he had to correct himself to yelling 'cats' instead of 'legionnaires'.

 

A loud crack and shrieking projectile struck the edge of the formation, throwing one of them free. Their shield had been shredded, the impact knocking them over backwards. The formation closed around the gap and sounded a steady retreat, keeping up the alternating fire pattern.

 

Deacon darted out from his hiding place, stimpak already at the ready. His leg protested loudly as he stooped down, a shot had likely grazed it in his scramble forward.

 

This one wasn’t in their armour, likely targeted to make an opening. He pressed it to the junction of shoulder and chest, startling them conscious as the stimulants reached their brain immediately.

 

“Don’t worry kid, you're not dead yet.” Deacon hooked his hands under their arms and started dragging them backwards. His leg was starting to throb now, he hadn’t looked down yet to see just how badly he had been hit.

 

“I got him.” Zeke hoisted him up and cradled him, turning to retreat back to the garage.

 

Deacon stood to follow, tipping instantly to the left and hitting the ground hard enough that his glasses crackled and splintered apart. He looked down, and flinched at how bad it was. The left leg of his jeans was darkened by blood from thigh to ankle. He could hear the call for medics, recognising a few of the leather jackets had scrawled red crosses on their arms.

 

He blinked, the world spinning and the farthest tips of his fingers and toes tingling. He flopped onto his back, looking up at the sky and stars as his head swam.

 

He blinked again, feeling the harsh pull of gravel as he was dragged away and heard the hiss of servos and motors.

 

Deacon snapped awake, trying to sit up. The sound of rotor blades was near deafening. Vertibird.

 

“Looks like he's awake.” Deacon turned to the voice. She was bandaging the wound on his thigh, a stimpak held between her teeth as she did so. She finished the wrapping, applying the injectable to just above the bullet wound. Deacon could see the extracted bullet and the tools that had done it laid out neatly on a cloth. The Brotherhood medic took off her gloves, depositing them into a jar of sterile solution and sealing it, lowering the mask over her mouth and putting the goggles back up on her hat.

 

“So, does a pretty doll like you come here often? Is grabbing a guy like me and dragging him aboard an aircraft your usual idea of a first date or am I just special?" Deacon grinned down at her. She ignored him completely.

 

“He's got a mouth on him. Reminds me of Nathan.” One of the Knights snorted at the name.

 

“Paladin Nathan.” The medic spoke the name with quite a lot of what Deacon guessed was bitterness.

 

“So, what’s the prognosis Doc?” The Knight had his weapon resting on his lap, the business end pointed right for the top of Deacons head as his finger idly rested outside the trigger.

 

“Rapid loss of blood and drop in blood pressure resulting in temporary cessation of consciousness. Fluids and rest, nothing more. He'll be ready by the time we can take him back to the Prydwen for interrogation.” Haylen packed her tools away.

 

“So, no date? I thought maybe we could play doctors and nurses? I could take you out for dinner some time, watch a sunset together, it'll be so romantic.” Deacons mind was racing, his mouth going on autopilot whilst his mind worked to think up a plan of escape. He had already been disarmed, a brief check proving his hands had been cuffed together behind his back.

 

“Not quite like Paladin Nathan. This guy has the balls to actual ask for a date openly, Nathan just spends months dropping hints that'll never get noticed.” The Knight laughed with an edge of mocking to it.

 

“Knight Rhys, that is your commanding officer. Show some respect.” One of the other Knights aboard had butted in.

 

Deacon recognised the names, being careful not to let anything of it show in his features. He was starkly aware that his sunglasses were missing. This was Gladius team; Danse's old team. To the best of his knowledge Nate was their new officer until they were reassigned, and that gave him a shot of being rescued.

 

He had the advantage of knowing them on a personal level through the stories brought back and proudly told about them. Haylen could laugh, would take a bullet for anyone in a heartbeat and had more of Danses interpretation of the Brotherhood rules in her head than the actual rules. Rhys could not laugh, was an asshole and Deacon realised how little other that Nates bias he knews. Danse was their anchor, both friend and leader.

 

“Yeah Princess, so insubordinate. I bet your C.O would bend you over his knee and give you a spanking if he knew.” Deacon noticed the slightly quirk of a smile tug at Haylens lips before her military front covered it completely. Rhys looked livid, ready to smack him. The only thing stopped him was the order to bring back the prisoner alive and unharmed.

 

“We know who you are, Deacon.” Rhys leaned over him. “You saved us a considerable amount of time by exposing yourself. Figures the Railroad was working with that raider gang, you can't really sink much lower can you?”

 

“How'd that go anyway? Last I checked you guys were retreating.” Deacon put on his best arrogant smile.

 

“We sustained no losses, and came away with the objective. The Railroad aren’t the only ones with spies, we knew you would be there. You were the target. We know your little group is mobilising against us, gathering others to attack us. We're going to find out just what you have planned and then put a stop to it.” In that instant Deacon could understand full well how Nate could dislike him.

 

“Valuable asset? Ooh, compliment me more, makes me hot in all the right places.” Deacon was trying very hard to channel Nate's level of inappropriate, he could see the look of irritation as he got under Rhys' skin in a way that must have been familiar to him.

 

Rhys had being too confident, said slightly too much. Only Old Church and the new Goodneighbour safehouse were aware of his movements. That put the Brotherhood infiltrator firmly within those two groups. That was also unfortunate because those were the one they had the most confidence being secure. Now he only had to get that info to Des somehow.

 

“Can we gag him?” Rhys looked over at Haylen questioningly.

 

“Afraid not.”

 

“Thought as much.”

 

“Dinner and a movie first before you get the gag out. Looks like I’m already handcuffed, just need the nipple clamps and we're all set for the evening.”

 

“Are you certain?” The exasperation was deliciously satisfying.

 

“Quite.” Haylen was keeping a straight face and trying very hard to do so.

 

The journey to Cambridge Station felt a lot longer than it was for everyone involved.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A relatively short chapter, clocking in at under 3000 words. I at one point considered skipping over this and have it just be a background event, going straight from Nate and Danse at Sanctuary to their plan to rescue Deacon from Cambridge. I chose to keep this chapter in because I needed somewhere to drop another hint to something important. Also, the net is slowly closing in on the operative undercover in the Railroad who's been informing the Brotherhoos of their movements and plans.


	25. My Side. Our Side

Day 12 since the incident at Listening Post Bravo

 

 

 

He looked at the fingers, studying each mark and the offence they caused in him. There was tally marks scratched into each finger plate, crosses and hatches linked with kills and captures, the others the significance of which he was only dimly aware. He clenched, the servos stiff and unresponsive. It felt like trying to crush a handful of wet sand. It was all wrong.

 

It was more than the crack in the left eye lens, or the whir of the air filtration struggling to keep up. More than the hard running Nate had put it through before discarding it in a corner. It was the desecration of what had once been a beautiful work of engineering, the patchwork paintjob of kill tallies, skulls and flames felt like a sacrilege against what had been a stunning piece of technology even in its decay. Sturges had brought out a spray gun and a swathe of metal stencils, beaming with pride at how neat and clean the lines were and how nice the art had came out. Danse didn’t have the heart to tell him that he found them all ugly, even if they were skilfully done.

 

It hadn’t evaded his notice that he had one stencil amongst them flecked with orange paint in the outline of the Knight and Knight Errant rank mark.

 

He looked like a mercenary, like the sort of petty killer for caps that the Brotherhood of Steel sneered toward at best and crushed beneath their heel at their most wrathful. It was a reminder how far he had fallen.

 

Danse had been left alone with Sturges for several minutes. There was no more important talks to be had, Sturges trying very hard to keep the mood light and Danse responding with stony silence. Nate returned with his stealth armour on and his usual array of bandoliers and pouches weighed down. There was a single item of interest amongst his usual field gear, a small block of breaching explosives two centuries out of date that Nate could recall the safety instructions for down to the spelling error on the second page of the field guide. It reminded Nate too much of some less than savoury jobs he had performed during the his deployment in Canada. He had seen too many neigbourhoods vanish in flames, too often when orders demanded them gone for peace and stability.

 

Nate had said his goodbyes, promising that they would be in contact within twenty four hours.

 

Danse was surprised when they arrived at Red Rocket, expecting their journey to be considerably farther.

 

Nathan shut down the turrets, and marched inside. When Danse found him he was resting against the countertop. That blank front of his helmet turned, something spoken lost between the helmet comms and his quietness. He was turning something shiny over in his hand, a faint rattling audible from within with each turn.

 

“I didn’t catch that. Repeat?” Danse felt his whole body recoil at the scratchy sound of the comms, his voice more machine than human.

 

Nate ejected from his armour, leaving it posed as he had been, the frustration visible in his stance now frozen in that moment.

 

“What we are about to do isn’t without significant risks.” Nate spoke up. “I chose my personal comfort over the mission, and now we're paying for it. We could have left when we were supposed to, and I chose badly. Now I’m putting us both at risk to fix my screw up.”

 

“Think it through before you assign blame. We would have made it back to HQ at dawn and been in no condition to help anyone, tactical efficiency is compromised at eighteen hours at the maximum assuming good prior rest and peak health. We would have been operating for more than twenty four by that point in prior sub optimal conditions. If we went out in a compromised state we could have ended up captured, or in my case likely executed on the spot.”

 

“A perfect tactical assessment. You really know what to say to put a guys guilt to rest.” The words were bitter, and Danse couldn’t be certain if there was sarcasm or not.

 

“I never know what to say to you when you're like this. I never have.” Danse had seen Nate slip into these moods before. His usual solution, simply ordering him to focus, seemed too callous and impersonal.

 

“Words are the bastion of those who cannot bring action.” A quote from the Codex. It was strange that Nate could remember it.

 

Danse took the suggestion, closing the gap and resting a hand against his shoulder, brushing the small strip of neck peeking out of the high collar of his fatigues with the pad of his thumb. The romantic nature was almost lost entirely with the massive, power armoured hand and the steely cold of the metal making Nate shiver in response.

 

Nate gently lifted the metal hand and planted a kiss to the back of it as if it was Danse own and gently let it fall with a dull smile.

 

“Better?”

 

“Ask me again when we're out the other side of this.” He raised what had been clenched in his other hand for him to see. It was a mentats tin with all its iconography scratched off.

 

The way he held it out on only the tips of his fingers and the way he was looking at it made Danse nervous. Nate held mines and grenades with a dangerous level of disregard and disrespect for their destructive power. He spared a briefest glance at Nates pipboy just to confirm it wasn’t radioactive.

 

The intensity of the gaze unsettled him, whatever was inside that small tin was something Nate felt strongly about. Whether it was fear, apprehension or something else Danse could not be certain, he had never been able to read people deeply. He was too used to the Brotherhood were intentions were plain and unhidden by habit.

 

“Do you trust me?” He looked at Danse with that same unreadable expression.

 

Nate knew exactly how close what he was going to do would be. Too many risks in both directions. He could lose Danse either way, the truth was his enemy in the situation.

 

“Of course I do.”

 

“I need you to say nothing, do nothing, unless I tell you to. I'm about to do something very stupid that could go very wrong for both of us.”

 

He opened the tin and took out the device inside. Danse recognised it as an earpiece, the kind Coursers used to communicate with their Institute handlers. He put it in, performing an action on his pipboy. When he was ready he entered his armour, taking a tentative few steps on the spot to get the systems warmed up.

 

He linked arms with Danse, making certain there was as many points of contact between their armour as possible. The former Paladin had a horrible suspicion what was about to happen.

 

Nate pressed the button on the device.

 

“One to relay back to the Institute, one side along. Compensate for power armour on both. This is a site to site visit only. Five second delay, mark.” He exhaled and held, reaching down to pick up his helmet and hold it at his side.

 

The air crackled about them as it built up the extra energy needed to teleport them both.

 

Danse matched his exhale, noting how he was holding his breath and keeping his eyes closed. His skin tingled like thousands of tiny breaths of winds passing over him, piercing even through armour.

 

It reached its peak with a crack and a flash, Danse blinking at the light that managed to be everywhere, even inside his helmet. He tried to blink the spots dazzling his eyes away.

 

The helmets barely functional display alerted him with a familiar beep to a single lifesign in close proximity long before his eyes finished adjusting back from the dazzling light.

 

“Welcome back sir.” Danse blinked several times, the crisp white silhouette taking shape. He could see now that it was a man in a starched uniform, dark glasses covering his eyes over a stern expression at their presence.

 

X6-88 was waiting at the arrival point as always. He stood bolt straight, arms folded neatly behind his back.

 

“This is a site to site, you don't have to be here every time to greet me. I'm touched that you care X6, but its getting a bit much.” Nate threw open his arms as if suggestion a hug. The synth ignored the gesture completely.

 

“Just doing my duty. No disrespect intended to your judgement or present company, but are you quite certain your plus one can be trusted?”

 

Danse was looking around the room, surprised just how clean and bright it was. He took in every detail as quickly as he could, even the slightest bit of information might prove tactically viable at a later date.

 

X6 kept his gaze fixed on Danse, drawing his attention and keeping it. Something primal and stark sparked through him, the inexplicable urge to fight or run without reason. It took a moment for him to realise what he was looking at. The stiff pose, the meticulous presentation, the quiet confidence and the aura of arrogance. Courser. Danse knew not to be afraid, he had killed Coursers before. Whatever remained of M7-97 loudly disagreed from wherever he had been buried.

 

“Mercenary, caps are all the trust I need.” Nate rolled his shoulders in the lazy suggestion of a shrug. “He knows I have associates here, hasn’t been a problem yet.”

 

“If you insist.” X6 took his attention away from Danse, something in his tone making Nate even more uncomfortable than he already was.

 

“How are you always here when I arrive? Do you just stand there and wait the whole time I’m away?”

 

Danse could spot the slight shift in his attitude. He was trying to change the subject rapidly, a tactic he often used when being addressed about certain incidents about the Prydwen that couldn’t be traced back to him completely but were strongly suspected of having his influence in them.

 

“It takes approximately thirty seconds to relay in from outside, including transit time. From within the facility it is almost instant.”

 

“Good to know.” The energy built up again around them but didn’t peak, idling until a destination was given. It felt like sitting under a thunderstorm.

 

“Destination is College Square in Cambridge. Out of sight and off the main street preferable, at your discretion exactly where.”

 

“I'm afraid we cannot land you directly there. The area has been covered by relay jamming devices.” X6-88 glanced at the console, tapping at the controls and probing for a viable landing spot that wouldn’t aggressively redistribute their parts over a wide area upon arrival.

 

Nate flicked open the map on his pipboy and frowned at it.

 

“Here.” He sent out the coordinates, X6 gently raising an eyebrow over his sunglasses at the suggestion that appeared on the screen.

 

“Are you quite certain?”

 

“Outside the no relay zone, inside their checkpoints. We need to get in and out without being noticed.” Nate gave a look that he hoped presented himself as prideful at his own intelligence. He hated how easily X6 could read him and know what he was thinking.

 

“May I ask why?” His eyes were hidden behind dark lenses but he was quite certain those bright blue eyes could bore a hole in his resolve. Maxson could do the same thing. He had come to realise that blue eyes made him nervous by reflex, which was going to make shaving in the morning an interesting feat if he caught his own reflection.

 

“Not right now. When I’m next here I’ll answer directly to the Director. There are some things I would like to discuss with him of importance.”

 

“I shall inform him of your intentions. Are you ready to relay out?”

 

Nate put his helmet back on, closing the pressure seals and running a momentary diagnostic. He gave X6 a thumbs up when he got an all clear from the systems he was about to need.

 

There was single sharp beep as the coordinates were locked and the build up of energy released with a crack.

 

X6-88 took a copy of the relay reports directly to the Director. The log was marked with Nathans full name and M7-97, confirmation of what they already knew.

 

Danse counted the time down in his head, opening his eyes when he felt soft ground beneath his feet. It was only when he tried to move did he feel the weight of the armour dragging and a flurry of alarms and warning flash up on his helmets internal display. He realised that despite being daytime his vision beyond the helmet was almost completely black.

 

His comms crackled to life.

 

“Confirm condition, over.” The system was evidently very damaged, the sound static wracked and almost garbled.

 

“Condition unknown, all warning lights red. Over.” Danse tried to move and found the armour fighting against him. There was a moment when he saw the crack in his eye lens grow slightly, the sound sharp and distinct inside his helmet.

 

Something clamped down on his hand, he tried to shake it off before he realised that it was Nate trying to grab ahold of him in the gloom.

 

“I have you. Over.” He sounded relieved.

 

“Where are we? Over.” Danse tried to lift his leg, the ground sucking back against him.

 

“Look up.”

 

Danse leaned back, tilting his head until he could see above. Light flickered and swayed on the waters surface, realising instantly why the warnings were all going off. Water pressure caused no end to the problems on compromised power armour.

 

“A warning where you were sending us would have been nice. Over.” His tone was short and clipped, wishing he could scowl at Nate to show his displeasure.

 

“Didn’t think it would be a problem.”

 

“I. Dislike. Full. Submersion.” He hoped the grinding of his teeth wasn’t audible over comms. It was. He remembered his proper radio protocol a moment later. “Over.”

 

He felt his arm being tugged toward the side of the river. He could just about make out the outline of Nates armour climbing, evidently he had found a metal ladder that hadn’t succumbed to rust even immersed in salt water.

 

Danse crested the waters surface just as the pressure warnings starting to look dire, Nate grabbing his arm and hauling him up the last part by throwing his weight backwards. They both tumbled awkwardly, Danse landing heavily atop of him. Once again any intimacy in the contact was destroyed by several inches of power armour and a film of green algae coating them.

 

There was a laugh from Nate, and even with the helmet Danse knew he was grinning at him in what Nate thought was supposed to be a seductive way.

 

“Focus.” Danse almost growled at him, rising to his feet and offering him a hand.

 

“You okay?” Nate made a show off patting himself down to hide how much Danses anger stung, his armour now caked in mud and dust.

 

“A warning. That’s all I needed. I've lost people to water before. Never again.” Danse had always hated water, even before he had lost a teammate to it. His team had been assigned to protect the recently activated Project Purity, put there whilst they looked for a new commanding officer to replace Paladin Krieg who had been lost in the assault on Adams Airforce Base. The attack had caught them by surprise, the supermutant getting a lucky shot off and dropping the walkway they stood on into the water. Rescue took an hour. It only took forty minutes for the pressure seal on his teammates helmet to fail. He had been on the comm line with them until it went dead.

 

There was silence as Nate had muted his microphone for a moment.

 

“I'm sorry.”

 

“You didn't know, lets get this over with.” Danse knew that Nate had never quite grasped just how many people had been lost in over ten years of service to the Brotherhood. Somewhere in his quarters aboard the Prydwen was a lockbox filled with holotags, some of which were old enough the battery inside had failed and taken the little blue projection of the faces with them. The only one not in the box was Cutlers, which was currently around Nates neck along with his both of theirs. Nate had insisted he wanted to keep Danses tag close, and Cutlers had to stay with it.

 

Nate unsealed his helmet and pulled a sour expression at the condition he was in. He released himself from it and wondered if it was worth trying to clean it before reaching the station. He took the earpiece out and put it back into its lead sealed container.

 

Once he was certain it was sealed and contained he drew a shuddering breath inward and held onto it, trying to get his heart rate to slow down.

 

“First trip to the Institute, I think that went well.” he tried to bury the crawling sensation under humour, he could feel the sterile air still clinging to his chest tightly.

 

“It isn’t my first technically. Just the first I can remember.”

 

“Still counts.” Nate shrugged. His skin still felt like it was stone cold.

 

“You have a handler inside.”

 

“X6-88. He's the courser the Director assigned to be my bodyguard, and I’m certain to keep track of my activities. He disproves of just about everything I do.” Nate had that look of carefully planned mischief about him, like he was remembering something that had given the courser a headache in the same way he gave the Prydwen command staff and Desdemona.

 

“You're not allowed to roam freely I take it.”

 

“I'm closely watched but I’m given a lot more trust than I really ought to have.”

 

“Why?”

 

There was hesitation from Nate, a moment of deep thought then an unsure answer.

 

“They think in the end I’ll support them, that I’ll have no choice but to accept they're right. They're waiting for me to 'see the truth' and double cross every major power in the Commonwealth on their command and hand them their victory gift wrapped. They need me.” Nate had a sombre look on his face until that last three words. It swapped to something deeply worrying, a faint smile with a little too much ego and a lot too much arrogance.

 

“Who’s side are you on in all of this? A month ago I was certain you were Brotherhood to the bone. A week ago I thought you were an agent of the Railroad. Today you are the Institutes final solution to every problem they face. And then there’s the fact you are the public face of the Minutemen. I need to know who you're looking out for.” Danse stood tall, squaring up to Nate. He needed a serious answer to this and wasn’t going to let him slip out of it easily.

 

“It depends. 'Who's side am I on?' and 'who I’m looking out for?' are two very different questions. I'm looking out for us first, you and me Danse, and the Commonwealth second.” That look was dangerous, the slight tilt of his head and the glimmer of unbridled ambition in his eyes made him feel like he was terribly small in Nates vision. He didn’t feel like he was first in his priorities.

 

“Which side are you on then?” Danse kept his tone even, he needed to be the voice of clarity to balance out his reckless impulses.

 

“My side. Our side.” That didn’t answer the question, but he could tell it was all he was going to get.

 

 

 

 


	26. An Infiltration

Day 12 since the incident at Listening Post Bravo

 

 

 

Nate threw open the doors to Cambridge Station and marched in with Danse trailing close behind. There was a momentary stillness as activity stopped, resuming when they recognised Paladin Nathans armour markings.

 

If he was nervous it didn’t project through steel and servo. They had at least washed down their armour in the repair bay outside in what had once been the station garage, Nate turning the hose on Danse as he stood perfectly still hoping his displeasure was somehow casting through a layer of steel and technology. The maniacal laughter from Nate suggested it did.

 

Rhys was behind the desk, looking up to see who had walked in. His expression dropped instantly.

 

“Honey, I’m home. I'll have my newspaper and slippers now, and my dinner at seven.” Nate looked right at Rhys with that arrogant smirk in place, slamming his helmet down on the desk and leaning in as if for a kiss.

 

“Paladin Nathan, what a pleasant surprise.” His tone in response was flat and annoyed, leaning as far away as possible.

 

“I was in the neighbourhood and needed a resupply. Is there enough fusion cells for me to take a handful and log it with requisitions against my allowances?”

 

“There should be.”

 

“If you'd put it down in the ledgers that would be wonderful, thank you.” Nate smiled widely at him.

 

“And who would your companion be?” Danse froze in place looking at Rhys with his heart thundering against his chest.

 

“Jonas Doetherty. He's a mercenary I bought out to help me deal with some non-Brotherhood business. I think he might have a future with the Brotherhood.” He said that last part so only Rhys could hear it.

 

“I pity you getting stuck with this guy.” Rhys addressed the mercenary, Nate pulling a look of mock offence.

 

“He's okay.” Danse responded as he had been told to. Short phrases, pull his neck against his chest and breath out before speaking. Rhys didn’t seem to recognise his voice at all.

 

“Not a talker? You ever take that helmet off?”

 

“You will leave that damned helmet exactly where it is. After that little embarrassment of a performance this morning you will only take it off when I tell you. Is that understood?” Nate had a look of fury on his face that genuinely made Danse wonder what he had done for a moment before his intention became clear.

 

“Yes. Sir.” He tried to modulate his voice.

 

“Certain this ones Brotherhood material, seems a bit meek if you ask me?” Rhys leaned over to ask it, keeping his voice low. “Mercenaries aren’t the best stock to recruit from.”

 

“There’s potential. Give him the recruiting spiel and see if he bites. We're a man down and that means no more field op's for any of us. I think he rightfully has a place on Gladius.”

 

“We'll see. If he says no?”

 

“I'll try to convince him myself. No offence but you have the charisma of a deathclaw.” Nate let a snorting laugh out at the look Rhys gave him.

 

“Offence taken. Quite a bit of it.”

 

“Take your offence and go fuck yourself with it. That’s an order, Knight.” Nate liked the shift in body language from aggressive to obedient with the invocation of rank. His back straightened, arms came to rest at his sides and his face a picture of blank professionalism.

 

“All due respect, sir, you can go fuck yourself right back.” Rhys spoke in a clipped, even tone and took a step forward to give the mercenary the recruiting speech before Nate could respond. He had managed to be respectful for almost a handful of seconds. It was progress.

 

Nate took the moment to slip farther into the station, approaching the cells. Nobody was on guard duty there and the back rooms were all empty of personnel. It was odd how few were stationed at Cambridge, a sign of increased activity elsewhere he suspected.

 

“Hey, don't I get a phonecall and lawyer?” Deacon pulled himself up against the bars, calling out before realising who he was talking to. He'd only seen the power armour at first and let his mouth run away with him.

 

Nate noticed the lack of sunglasses. They'd either been damaged during his capture or confiscated since. He could probably have picked the lock using the edge of the arms given enough time.

 

“You get whatever the Elder has in store for you.” Nate smiled, raising a finger to his mouth to signal they could be heard. “So how long have you been here?”

 

“Arrived at dawn. I gotta say the room service has been terrible, and I would like to put a formal complaint in about your receptionist. What a bitch.” Nate tried not to crack a smile, nodding to him and mouthing 'yeah, he is.'

 

“That means you're getting shipped out at dawn. I'm certain our esteemed Elder will be personally asking you a few choice questions.” Nate took out the breeching charge and the stealthboy, handing them through the bars. He pointed to the outer wall and made a motion with his hand that suggested explosion. Deacon hid them under the bed frame.

 

“Its my carbonara recipe isn’t it? Well he won't get it, that’s been a family secret for generations.” Deacon looked over his shoulder for a moment, spotting that they now had company. Nate grabbed him by the throat and pulled him harshly against the bars. It was hard enough that it would probably leave a bruise on his cheek.

 

“Midnight shift rotation, chameleon armour will be waiting, Head to Homeplate.” Nate whispered it, looking to whoever had come around the corner like a threat.

 

“Hey, no roughing up the prisoner. We want him pristine when we present him to the Elder.” Rhys had finished his speech a little too quickly, finding what to his eyes seemed to be Nathan trying to singlehandedly strangle an enemy agent. Nate shoved the spy back with a sneer.

 

“What Princess over there said. You wouldn't want to damage the goods now would we?” Deacon grinned at him as he straightened up his clothing and rubbed at his neck, Nate baring his teeth in response.

 

“You know who I am and what I am capable of.” Nate let that feral smile creep into his face. Rhys watched from the side.

 

“Yeah I do. You used to help us, we thought there might even be a heart under all that steel. You proved that wrong when you murdered one of your own for the sake of duty. You're scum, don’t need to know anything beyond that.”

 

“I was stupid to ever think synths could be redeemed. Danse proved that to me, I trusted him and he lied to me.” Nate drew a steadying breath and dropped the anger, making it a little ragged to suggest he was fighting back against breaking down. “The Railroad betrayed me too. You sent Death Bunny to kill me because I chose the Brotherhood over you. Biggest, scariest heavy you had and I put him in the ground.”

 

“Paladin Nathan, I strongly suggest you calm yourself.” Rhys wasn’t in armour so he had no way of physically stopping him. He put his hand on Nate's shoulder, and for the shortest moment seemed genuinely concerned.

 

“Go fuck yourself, Knight. This needs saying.” Rhys almost flinched at the look of fury directed at him, narrowing his eyes instead knowing his usual solution to Nate would now get him court marshalled. He turned to look back at Deacon as Rhys retreated back a step. “When you tell us where HQ got moved to I’m going to personally lead the attack. I've already dealt with Charmer and Liberty, so there’s the usual rescue squad gone.”

 

“Paladin.”

 

“I'm done.” Nate pushed past him as harshly as he could without the power armour harming him.

 

He stormed back into the main room, disengaged his armour and approached the Nuka dispenser. The various Scribes and Knights were trying very hard to not look in his direction, he had evidently been loud enough for them to overhear.

 

Danse was stood against the wall. If he was nervous now after hearing that the layer of armour was still hiding it well.

 

Nate snatched a Nuka Quantum from the cooler and took the cap off using the edge of the reception counter. He dropped onto the chair Haylen usually used and just sat sipping it, projecting as much menace and anger as he could muster.

 

Rhys would likely report what had happened in the cells. The Brotherhood would hopefully accept everything he said as the truth, putting to rest any issues with his previous assistance of the Railroad. He just needed to make sure the Railroad put out false information on the known channels the Brotherhood monitored. That put his loyalties firmly with the Brotherhood.

 

He would have smiled if it wouldn’t break his cover. He needed to finish his drink and then leave, staying just the right amount of time to look like he was simply taking a rest before moving on.

 

“You doing okay.” Nate looked at Danse, the affirmative nod back a little reluctant. His tone shifted back to simmering rage as he caught sight of Rhys approaching out the corner of his eye. “We'll be back on the road soon, don't get comfortable.”

 

“Paladin.” Rhys spoke, Nate trying very hard to ignore his presence. He took a very slow sip of his Nuka before even looking at him.

 

“What?” It was perhaps a little too snappy, Nate reigning it in. He was starting to understand why Deacon enjoyed the spy business so much. It was fun and tense at the same time.

 

“With all due respect, what the hell was that. You were out of line back there.”

 

“All due respect? You've never respected me, you can't even stand to be around me.”

 

“I dislike you, but I’ve always respected your skill as a soldier. What I don’t respect is that attitude of yours that’s clearly holding you back.”

 

“If its holding me back then why am I Paladin and you're just a Knight?” Nate liked the doubt that ran through his face. “I'm going to be nice and not report your insubordinate attitude toward me, but only because I’m the bigger man here. You always hated it when I was insubordinate, time to practice what you preach.”

 

“Yes. Sir.” Rhys was clearly raging against it under his calm exterior. “So what was that about?”

 

“There was an operation against one of their safehouses, they sustained heavy losses. I had no idea until they tried to kill me. They think I was behind it.”

 

“I've not heard of any planned operation against the Railroad, are you certain?”  
  
“They certainly were. Is there anything else you wish to discuss?” Nate made it obvious that he wasn’t going to discuss the matter further. He guessed that they had stuck around long enough to not be suspicious.

 

“There is actually. I'm worried about Scribe Haylen.”

 

Nate saw the slight shift in Danse, the way his back straightened and his fist clenched.

 

“Any particular reason?”

 

“You know exactly what’s up with her. I heard you wouldn’t even talk to her the day you got back. She isn’t taking Danse's death well, you need to go talk to her.”

 

“Why can't you talk to her?”

 

“She's avoiding me. I tried telling her that she was mourning the death of a pointless machine and she got angry. Told me not to come back until I was ready to apologise.” Rhys had that trapped look he had when dealing with conflict of personal interest and duty. Danse and Nate both knew he was not going to apologise, he was too stubborn to ever admit he was wrong. Haylen would have to take be the mature one out of them and take the first step. That was how it always went.

 

“How are you taking it?”

 

“Off the record, sir?” Rhys pronounced 'sir' as if it were poison spat from his mouth.

 

“Off the record.” He nodded.

 

“I'm going to remember him as he was. He was a damn fine officer, and to hell with it, he was family.” Rhys kept his voice low, not wanting what he said to be overheard by anybody else in the station. “Haylen needed you, and you abandoned us. She needed you to explain that you did what had to be done, that what you destroyed was not Paladin Danse. And on the topic of respect, I can respect the fact you pulled the trigger. I don’t think I could have done it in your position.”

 

“I regret nothing I did down there. Not a single action. I did what was right.”

 

“I suppose you did. I don't have to like it thought. You killed a good man and profited from it. Enjoy your rank, I hope you understand just what you did to get it.”

 

“No, you don’t have to like it. I'm done here.” Nate stood, pushing past Rhys for a second time.

 

“The ammo you requested is ready when you want it.” Rhys pointed to the box on the reception front. Nate took the fusion cells, passing half to Danse.

 

Nate jumped back into his armour, stretching briefly in it to get a feel for the servos again. He practically slammed his helmet back into place.

 

They hurried out, making their way to the ruins nearby and setting up camp inside. They were going to have to wait out the rest of the day. Through the windows they could make out the back of the station where Deacon was going to escape.

 

Danse slumped against the wall heavily, slipping to a sitting position with his knees against his chest. The mortar made a worrying noise with his weight against it. He tore at the pressure locks until they released and threw his helmet at the wall across from him.

 

“Danse!” Nate had to jump aside to avoid being hit as it bounced off the wall toward him. “The hell?”

 

That look was back, lost and confused.

 

Silence hung heavily betwen them as they both tried to find words.

 

“I'm sorry?” Nate wasn’t understanding just what was happening. “Is this because of the way I acted, it was just that, an act. Talk to me.”

 

“You were fine. A perfect infiltration, not that I ever doubted your skills.” Danse spoke plainly and flatly, his eyes were unfocused and far away.

 

“Then what's wrong?”

 

“They were my family, our family. I thought that knowing I was an abomination, a thing, they would at least be able to get over my death. Instead I’ve made the two people you should be closest to hate you, they are your team and that team is falling apart.”

 

“We lost our commanding officer, and he was the one holding us all together. If you're worried about how sad they are now just imagine how happy they're going to be when they find out we faked your death.” Nate put on a wide smile, the worry everywhere else on his face ruining any trace of the warmth he had been trying to project.

 

“I'm fairly certain it doesn’t work like that. They are going to be hurt and betrayed when they find out. You lied to them, the Elder lied to them, and I’ve been hiding from them. It isn’t going to do them any good.” Danse put his head in his hands, drawing in a deep breath.

 

“These are professional soldiers you're talking about. They can handle a lot more than a sense of betrayal. I think they'll be more relieved you're not dead. They miss you.”

 

“You can't know that.”

 

“Yes I can. You heard Rhys, we're family. I know them because they are my Brother and Sister in Steel.” Nate disengaged his armour and crouched down next to Danse. “You know I’m right about this. Rhys was a lot more vicious than usual, he's feeling betrayed but won't admit it out loud. So does Haylen. You don’t hate someone unless they did something unforgivable. Deny it all you want, they're still loyal to you.”

 

“An interesting way to rationalise it.”

 

“I know hate. I've had someone I thought I cared for turn into somebody monstrous. They did evil, unforgivable things and I’ve had to pick up the pieces.” Nate kept his words vague enough to make it sound like something of his life before the war. Nobody would ever learn about Shaun, he was going to make certain of it.

 

“Which brings me back to my point. Its my fault they hate you.”

 

“I was presented with a choice: Kill you or convince you to fake your death. Either way they hate me, I made the choice that didn’t involve the unjustified murder of somebody I loved and respected.”

 

“There’s the third option. If you hadn’t arrived when you did I would have done it myself. I just hadn’t worked up the courage yet when you showed up. The abomination is destroyed and you're hands are clean of it.”

 

Anger flashed into Nates eyes hearing that.

 

“You know now how split my loyalties really are. Do you really think I would have wanted to stay a Knight if that had happened? The attack on Railroad HQ probably would have pushed me over the edge. That third path would lead to me going to war with the Brotherhood, and lets be honest I could do a lot of damage to them before they stopped me. If they stopped me.”

 

“Even if that meant killing Haylen and Rhys.” Danse looked up at him. That intense look made Nate recoil.

 

“I don’t know. If I was thinking properly i'd make certain they were both at Cambridge when it happened.”

 

“Could you do it even with the young Initiates aboard?”

 

“Its war. Innocent people get caught in the crossfire all the time. You would have no second thoughts destroying the Institute? Most of their population is the families of the scientists. Civilians and children.”

 

“I wouldn’t. Sacrifices have to made for the greater good. I don’t like it, but I understand why it has to happen.”

 

“Exactly. There’s no point dwelling on this, I already made my choice. I followed you into the Brotherhood, and i'll follow you beyond it.” Nate tried to comfort Danse, cupping his cheek with his palm. Danse looked at him, his brows dipped and anger flooded into his eyes.

 

“Don't say that again. That line.”

 

“I followed you?”

 

“I'll follow you into the Brotherhood and i'll follow you beyond it.” Danse stood up and disengaged his armour, slumping back into his previous position. Nate took the chance to get closer to him, putting an arm around his shoulder. “Cutler said those exact words the day we joined up with the Brotherhood. If he had stayed in Rivet city maybe he'd still be alive.”

 

“How many times did he save your life when you served together?”

 

“More than I could count.”

 

“If he hadn’t joined up then you might have died during any one of those incidents. You're here because of Cutler. I owe him for keeping you alive so you could find your way to me eventually and you should honour his memory by living your life properly. He would want that.”

 

“The life of a synth for a real human. Not a bad trade if you ask me.”

 

“Are you sure he was human?” Nate had an idea forming behind his eyes, Danse could see the slightest turn of his lip that meant he thought he was being smart.

 

“What are you implying?” He hadn’t meant to sound quite so harsh at the implication.

 

“How long had you known him before you joined the Brotherhood?”

 

“Years.”

 

“And where do your implanted memories start?”

 

“I don’t know.” Danse tried to recall a point where they seemed wrong or inconsistent. Every part felt real, he could remember specific events from his childhood that he knew couldn’t be real and yet were perfectly convincing. He felt hunger as he scavenged for scrap, the relief when he managed to scrape enough caps together to feed himself, the cold of winter as he wrapped himself up in a thin blanket and tried to sleep wondering if he was going to die in the night from hypothermia. He remembered being lonely and ignored. Those events had shaped him into the man he was today.

 

“So it could be possible both of you were escaped synths and given matching histories to be more believable?” Nate had witnessed the Railroad do that on a few occasions. There was an entire trading caravan that had sprang into existence over night, a lot of new settlers in and around the commonwealth vaguely recalling having encountered them before. That had taken a lot of careful planning and forethought to make happen.

 

“I hadn’t considered it. I don't know what to think about that. I doubt it though.”

 

“Would Cutler being a synth change your opinion of him?”

 

“No. I knew him for years, I trusted him more than anybody else until I met you.”

 

“Then why would Haylen and Rhys be any different toward you?” Nate sprung the trap he had been setting carefully.

 

Danse froze, trying to find an argument and finding none forthcoming.

 

“I forget all too easily just how good you are at making people believe you. Please, don't use Cutler against me like that again.”

 

“I'm not using him against you. I'm getting help from him to show you how stupid you're being. You're dwelling on what-ifs and maybes that you can't change. You have the chance to do some real good, don't throw everything you have away because you pity yourself. Please start being the strong, caring Paladin I fell in love with again.” Nate's eyes were pleading with him. Danse was starting to worry him, slipping back into the way he had been at Listening Post Bravo.

 

“I'm trying. I don’t mean to disappoint you, its just I don’t think I’ve let myself just stop and think about everything that’s happened. I've thrown myself head first into our new work and into this relationship and now that we've stopped its all just catching up with me.”

 

“You're not a disappointment to anybody. You're strong, honest, caring, reliable in a way I never will be. You're a better person than I ever will be, when I look at you i see all the good things I never can be. You can't run forever, but I’ll be here by your side to help you through it all.”

 

“I don't know what I ever did to deserve the love of someone as loyal as you. You see the good in me even with what I am.”

 

“I look to up to you as an example of how to be a good person. You would see the good you've done as clear as day from my perspective.”

 

“I wish I could believe that.” Danse sighed.

 

“I'll convince you of it yet.” Nate smiled thinly at him, planting a slight kiss to his jaw. He fished about in his backpack and dragged out his field blanket and draping it over the Paladin. “Take a nap, you look like you could use one.”

 

“Thank you soldier.”

 

“I love you Danse. Try not to forget that in all the self pity; that i see somebody I can trust and that I want to share my life with.”

 

“I'll try.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deacon upon escaping would have been in Brotherhood custody for less than 24 hours. This couldn't possible have negative repercussions. This chapter marks the 2/3rds complete for this fic, and the next chapter ends this story thread and starts the end to come. The first part was about Danse joining the Railroad and Nate choosing to betray the Brotherhood. The second was planning how to deal with the Brotherhood and drawing allies. The last third is the endgame where the Brotherhood starts their plans, the Railroad gets its operations lined up and the Institute makes a deal...


	27. This Isn't My World

A few minutes until Day 13 since the incident at Listening Post Bravo

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Hey, wake up.” There was a gentle shove, dragging him up to consciousness.

 

Danse rolled about in his cot, opening his eyes blearily. Knight Cutler was leaning over him, holotags swinging about freely beneath him, a look smug and familiar on his face.

 

“Is there a reason you're getting me up so damned early?” Danse rubbed at his eyes, staring blankly up at the ceiling of the Citadel barracks waiting for his brain to catch up with his eyes.

 

“Krieg wants us assembled in the courtyard asap. We're going out on a mission with the Lyons Pride instead of the scheduled op.” Cutler seemed genuinely excited, bouncing back and forth on his heel.

 

Danse was up instantly, heartbeat thundering in his chest.

 

“Are you serious?”

 

“Yeah. And it gets better. The Wanderer is with Sarah right now, and they're coming with us.” Cutler was clearly star struck.

 

“That maniac?” Danse was upright now, pulling a vest on over his head. “I don't get why you idolise them so much, they're insubordinate as hell and reckless too.”

 

“And they get stuff done. Sometimes you've got to give the dangerous ones a little leeway if you want results, and they certainly get results.”

 

“I suppose you're right.”

 

“Try to remember this stuff when you get promoted.”

 

“I'm not getting promoted.” Danse just rolled his eyes at him. Cutler had been going on about how he was about to get promoted for the last week and a half.

 

“Everyone thinks you're getting promoted. There's even a new recon team name in the system, Gladius. They only add a name if there's going to be a Paladin to lead them. You're the only one who specialises in long term reconnaissance that's going to be promoted.”

 

“How do you know about the team name being added to the system, you're definitely not authorised to see that kind of information?”

 

“Bribed a scribe.” Cutler shrugged, giving Danse a toothy grin.

 

“You'll get a court marshal if you get caught doing that. Influencing another into breaching protocol is a serious offence.”

 

“It was an educated gamble. So come on, wake up.”

 

“I am awake.” Danse mumbled it, the Citadel gone instantly with a jump and replaced with the worried face of Nathan.

 

He blinked once, it was dark now and the air was biting cold.

 

“You were being really difficult to wake.” Nate took his hand, feeling just how cold his fingers had gotten. “You were also talking in your sleep.”

 

“Anything specific?” Danse rubbed at his eyes, trying to force them to focus properly.

 

“I think you accused me of of trying to bribe Haylen into doing something bad?” Nate raised an eyebrow, taking Danses hands and cupping them in his own to warm them. “I've creatively interpreted a lot of the Brotherhoods rules before, but I’m certain that’s not amongst them.”

 

“It wasn’t you.” Danse stood up, his joints protesting and seized up from the cold. He got into his armour, the inside chilled but quickly heating up as its climate sensors flickered to life and made the appropriate changes.

 

“Anything you want to share?”

 

“Not really. Memories from a long time passed, not worth dragging up.” Danse watched Nate pack the blanket away and sling his backpack over his armour, clambering in and activating it.

 

“Have you had any rest yet?”

 

“No, but I’m fine. I've had a few bottles of Quantum, so there’s mostly caffeine and isotopes now where blood used to flow.” Nate smiled widely. Danse could tell, even in armour his shoulders seemed to be trying to shrug repeatedly as if to scratch a permanent itch.

 

“How long do we have?” Danse looked out the broken window toward the station. The cell wall exploded outwards before Nate could answer.

 

“Not long I imagine.” The Paladin did not appreciate the sarcasm, Nate speaking as the smoke rose and rubble peppered the ground.

 

The chameleon armour was propped up against the wall. It vanished from sight, Deacon briefly flickering into sight before fading again.

 

“Are we certain he's going to get away?” Danse could see Knights swarming into the cell.

 

“Yup.” Nate held up a small remote trigger. He tapped the button, a second explosion somewhere out the front street drawing their attention. “I took the liberty of setting up a distraction whilst you were asleep.”

 

As predicted the Brotherhood soldiers flocked in the wrong direction toward it. Deacon was heading south toward Diamond city, they had been directed north.

 

They both heard the order over the radio for all local forces to recall. That meant the checkpoints out of Brotherhood territory would be clear.

 

“You thought this through.” Danse was impressed. It showed a lot more tactical forethought than Nate usually showed. It wasn’t that he didn’t carefully plan things out, he just didn’t seem to do it consistently.

 

“Quite a lot. Whilst you and Sturges were working on that armour I had Curie whip something up for Deacon. This here should help him through the worst of the symptoms.” Nate patted one of his pouches.

 

“Should we head out?”

 

“Not yet. Wait for them to lose the trail of the search first. On that topic.” Nate pressed the trigger again. Another explosion responded. “That should send them even farther off Deacons scent.”

 

“Do you actually feel bad sending them on a wild goose chase?” He already suspected the answer, pre-emptively disappointed with it.

 

“Nope.” Nate pushed the button again. The final bomb went off, this time so far away only the edge of the sound could be heard. “that'll be them chasing ghouls for the next few hours. I think we can go now.”

 

Nate did a quick lap of the tiny room, swinging his arms to get comfortable in power armour again.

 

“We've probably gotten Rhys into trouble. Elder Maxson is going to be less than pleased his prisoner escaped.” Danse couldn't help but feel bad for Knight Rhys, he was a exemplary and skilled soldier that seemed to get all of the bad breaks. First getting assigned to Danse's team, then getting sent into the Commonwealth, then his record tarnished by Nathan constantly antagonising him into breaking proper conduct. And now an achievement that could have secured him a promotion, or at least washed away some of those previous mistakes had been snatched from him. As much as Rhys would never say it aloud Gladius team had been the worst thing to happen to him.

 

“Screw Rhys. I'll trade Deacon not getting tortured for Rhys getting a dressing down any day. Hell I’d trade a half drank bottle of Nuka for Rhys most days.” Nate smirked, taking the stairs down to street level.

 

“You are just a wellspring of compassion aren’t you?” Danse's voice was deadpan, an eyebrow raised under his helmet.

 

“Paladin? Was that sarcasm?” Nate was taken aback.

 

“Don't get used to it Soldier.” Danse took the lead and marched on ahead. Nate fell into line with him, their routine coming back to them easily. “Maxson was right about you. You're a terrible influence on everyone you encounter.”

 

“I'll take that as high praise from the Elder. I pride myself on being a beacon of civilised degeneration in an uncivilised world.”

 

Danse focused on the path ahead, Nate watched the rooftops and flanks for danger.

 

Nate couldn’t help but let the words do laps around his thought process until he needed to know more.

 

“Did Maxson really say that about me?”

 

“He did.”

 

“What else has he said?”

 

“He said that you were a loose cannon and needed to be reigned in if we were going to get anything productive out of you. I was the one that advocated for you to be given the Errant status. I figured you would do well being cut free and left to your own devices rather than forcing you into our rigid hierarchy.”

 

“And I chose to assimilate willingly into your ranks.” Nate chuckled to himself.

 

“I never said it at the time but I was so proud of you. I knew you'd make the right decision in time, it just wasn’t right to force you into it until you were ready.”

 

“So Maxson thought I was a liability?”

 

“Initially, yes. You've proved otherwise many times since. You keep your personal and professional faces separate, it wasn’t the greatest problem that one of those really wasn’t a good fit for the Brotherhood.”

 

“I'm not certain I understand.”

 

“On the battlefield you are everything expected of a Brother in Steel. Every other time you were insubordinate, argumentative, unprofessional and antagonistic. Especially toward Rhys. I was the one that had to explain your behaviour to the Proctors and the Elder, and I defended you based on your good intentions and exceptional skill. In your entire career I can recall only two incidents where you let your personal feelings influence your field work.”

 

“The Institute and the listening post?”

 

“I won't pry, I know you have your reasons.”

 

“I feel a little betrayed.” Nate thought for a moment. “Maybe betrayed isn’t the right word. I didn’t think my actions were viewed that negatively. And I didn’t realise you had to defend me so much. I'm sorry.”

 

Nate had apologised a lot in the day gone. Danse for a fleeting moment had to wonder if it was the mark of a guilty conscience. He dismissed the idea, knowing better.

 

“You don’t have to apologise. Maxson is a very strict leader and expects everything to be exactly where and how he likes it. You were neither. I think he liked having you around because you were a challenge to deal with, and you brought about a lot of positive change with you. We know a lot more about the old world, how the military worked, you shared first hand experience with power armour and information lost to history.”

 

“I was a resource to be taped?”

 

“Aren't we all?” Danse stopped and turned to him. “The Railroad needs you, The Brotherhood needs you, the Minutemen need you. Even the Institute seems to need you. Do you need them?”

 

“I suppose not. The Commonwealth needs them though, and I want to do what’s right by the Commonwealth. So I suppose I need all of them in a round about way. Not the Institute though, definitely not the Institute.”

 

“A better answer than most.” Danse smiled under his helmet. “That’s where we differ. I need a purpose, a place to belong. You need to be doing what’s right and you don't care who or what it is that lets you do it. I was happy to be a part of something greater, a tiny piece of the machine that is the Brotherhood of Steel. You didn't fit quite right because you always strove for something different.”

 

“I don’t fit in because this isn’t my world. This world is fresh, new, there's hope. Things look pretty bad if you only see the ruins and raiders, but everything broken and wrong with my world was destroyed and we have a chance now to start again without all of it. I want to protect that future.” Nate looked at Danse, the cold metal front of his armour unreadable. He pulled him into a hug, metal scrapping and chippings away its paint as he did. The ugly tally marks were almost destroyed. “And I want is you at my side, with me at every step as I secure that future.”

 

Danse didn’t say anything, he just tilted his head forward until the forehead of his helmet was resting against Nates. They clanged loudly, Nate letting a warm, bubbling laugh free at it.

 

Nate gently pushed him back, pointing to the path ahead. Deacon was ahead of them and they had to try and catch up with him.

 

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

 

Homeplate's front door was pushed open harshly enough to slam against the tin walls, Nate and Danse crouching to fit the low frame.

 

“Took you two long enough.” Deacon was sprawled out on the couch, a wet towel over his head. “Could you keep the noise down, nursing the hangover from hell over here.”

 

“Good to see you too Deacon.” Nate slipped out of his armour, fishing out the bag of clear liquid Curie had provided. “Brought you a gift.”

 

Deacon lifted to towel off his eyes, the light far too bright and giving him the urge to throw up.

 

“Is it the sweet embrace of death? I could do with that right now.”

 

“Ever better. A cocktail of chems courtesy of dearest Curie. Med-X, Buffout, Stimpak, something she refined from mutfruit and Addictol. Should take the edge off what you're feeling.”

 

“Not too keen on chems, they give me the worst heartburn.” Deacon put the towel back over his eyes. The water was ice cold and making the pain at least vaguely tolerable.

 

“Any side effects other than the headache?”

 

“I've gone blind in one eye, having trouble moving my right arm and everything hurts. Lets not forget the swamp knuckle, ducks feet, porphyric haemophilia, rigor mortis, this one song song stuck in my head I can't seem to get out.” He couldn’t see it but he could most certainly feel the glare on him. “How do you stand using that thing for any length of time.”

 

“I try not to. Do you want the painkillers or not?” Nate handed the bag to Danse, motioning to his medical supply drawer for the hypodermics.

 

“I thought you didn’t go in for needles? That mean the tincans going to be doing the stabbing?”

 

“I can assure you I have been trained in the use of field medicine to an adequate degree.” Danse lifted Deacons arms and pointed it toward the light. He heard the door open and slam as Nate fled. The incident at HQ involving the Rad-Away and the Stealthboy remembered by both present.

 

“Adequate isn’t a reassuring word when it comes to sticking needles into someone. You want qualified at least.”

 

Nate returned a few minutes later to find Deacon staring at the ceiling with his sunglasses back on, blinking infrequently. Nate had to wonder just where he had acquired another set.

 

“I brought food.” Nate raised the cartons of noodles from Takahashi.

 

“Not supposed to eat after Med-X, messes with your stomach. Got to drink a lot of water though.” Deacon was aware of his surroundings in a vague way. “Curie made this stuff a lot stronger than I was expecting.”

 

“Its the longest time I’ve ever heard him go between sentences. Its fine to eat, you just have to do it slowly if you don’t want it to give you painful cramps.” Danse recalled Haylen explaining that to him. He was going to have to thank Curie personally, she had created something that did what was thought impossible; shut Deacon up. “You also haven't eaten all day, you need to keep your strength up if you want to recover.”

 

Deacon shifted slowly upright, taking the noodles and gently opening the lid. He wrapped the noodles around the fork he had been given and stared at them for a moment before biting, as if uncertain what to do. He seemed oddly still.

 

Nate was unsure if he shoulds be amused or concerned. He chose to ignore it instead. Deacon had once told him that he had some very serious chem issues in the past. Whether that story was true or or not didnt particularly matter, He figured it didn’t matter, what mattered was that Deacon wanted what he had said to be seen as true. 

 

He was at least moving his right arm in small amounts so no permanent damage had been inflicted by the stealth field to his nervous system.

 

Nate settled down on the couch with both of them and ate in peaceful silence. It took only three forkfuls of food for the silence to grow strange and wrong. He stole glances toward Deacon, catching the way he stared into infinity as if barely there. He really hoped it was just the medicine. It was not.

 

With a clatter of cutlery Nate threw his fork across to the sink, bouncing it off the wall and into the water. Danse gave him the slightest of disproving looks.

 

He put the empty noodle box aside and stood up with a stretch and a yawn, wandered over to a short table and brushed off the various parts and papers that had accumulated over it. There was an old radio, wires trailing off of it up to the roof. It was already tuned to Minutemen frequency.

 

“Homeplate to Castle, this is General. Transmit back a mission accomplished to Garvey and have it passed along.”

 

“Understood General.” was the crackly response.

 

Nate put the receiver down, flicking the power off.

 

“That should put Des at rest.”

 

“She's not gonna be pleased I got caught.” Deacon finally spoke, a sharpness behind his expression.

 

“What exactly happened?”

 

“Atom Cats and the Brotherhood had a falling out, didn’t want to surrender their power armour. I showed up just as they were planning to take it by force, a stray shot got me in the leg. I woke up on a vertibird. I met Haylen and Rhys. I thought they'd be nicer how you described them.” Deacons words were short and toneless.

 

Danse was frowning now.

 

“Did you learn anything from them? They're both supposed to out of active duty rotation until Gladius is back up to full strength.”

 

“Drafted in last minute. Paladin Harkon sound familiar?”

 

“Charismatic but arrogant. His teams been below strength for some time, his subordinates keep getting killed.”

 

“He's a complete windbag who can suck the life out of room just by walking in.” Nate snorted.

 

“I was trying to be polite about it.”

 

“Well that guy requested them specifically. He needed two more, and they fit the roles he needed. Neither of them seemed particularly pleased about it.” Deacon had the edge of an accent back again, his head clearing for the initial weightlessness of the Chems.

 

“Poaching members from another team is considered a grave insult to the commanding officer.” Danse's scowl was a lot deeper now.

 

“Which one of you was he insulting?” Deacon looked between them.

 

“Both probably.” Nate shrugged, rubbing at his eyes.

 

“I've got some bad news though. They knew who I was and they know the Railroads planning to move against the Brotherhood. They've gotten wind of something, and they knew I was there recruiting the Atom Cats. Rhys admitted that it was our informant that tipped them off.”

 

“We couldn’t keep it a secret forever. They only have to look at our recent activity to see something is happening. This just means we need to step up the plan, once you've recovered properly we move straight to the next phase.”

 

“Next phase?” Danse looked at Nate, seeing the cogs and gears in his head whirring and spinning to try and reshuffle the plan into a much shorter space of time.

 

“Me and Des planned everything out, we just thought we would have more time. We need to cut the supply lines sooner rather than later, after what happened it shouldn’t raise too much suspicion if the Minutemen completely shut off any trading to them. Then its Diamond City, their surplus is traded to the Brotherhood. After then we just need to agitate the ghoul colonies in the metro system, set a few raider gangs off on a turf war and prod the supermutants. That should provide a smokescreen for our activities and discourage traders from making any long journeys. But then we'll have to start moving our forces to Goodneighbour, throught that mess, and keep all of that a secret...” Nate was stopped before he could start rambling by Danse gently putting his hand over his mouth, cutting off the long spiel of ideas and plans pouring from his mind.

 

“Nathan. Stop. You are exhausted and probably performing below fighting fit.”

 

There was a moment when Nate considered licking Danse hand to make him recoil, choosing to tactfully take him by the wrist and lower it from his mouth instead.

 

“I'm certain my performance is still quite spectacular.” He let a wild smile cross his face, the stern look he got in return ruined somewhat by the red tinge of his ears and cheeks. “Fine. You're right.”

 

“We can pick this up properly when we see Desdemona next. I am certain she will be handling everything adequately in our absence.”

 

Nate yawned, gesturing between Deacon and whatever it was on the far side of the junk piles.

 

“There’s a bed over there if you want it, if not the couch is yours. I'll be upstairs asleep if you need me.”

 

“Appreciated.” Deacon looked over where Nate had gestured. There was indeed a bed, but it was covered in armour plated scraps. He trudged over to it and swept them all aside, checking under the covers for any other surprises. There was a handful of Jet canisters and a selection of goggles and bandannas. This was where Hancock slept when he was smuggled into the city to conduct his more covert business.

 

“Where am I sleeping?” Danse looked at Nate.

 

The grin in return and raised eyebrow made his cheeks warm.

 

“Take a guess Tincan. With me, always.”

 

The faint blush was joined by a warm smile.

 

“I didn't want to presume.”

 

“With me. Always.”

 

“Get a room you two.” Deacon was already in his bed, burying his head under a pillow and sighing theatrically loud.

 

Nate took Danse's hand and lead him up to the small bedspace. It wasn’t as cluttered as everywhere else, the neatly folded stack of spare bed linen suggesting Codsworth had been there at some point in the last few weeks.

 

Danse tugged his fatigues and then tshirt over his head and laid it out on a small table, undoing his jeans and placing them aside. There was a moment where he almost startled when warm arms came to rest around his torso, Nate hugging him from behind and planting the lightest of kiss to his shoulder blade.

 

He hummed a noise of acknowledgement before turning in the hug until Nate was buried into his chest, kissing him softly on the forehead before letting his head come to rest against his collarbone.

 

“Keep it clean, we have guests.” Danse could feel the way hands were inching ever lower, freezing at the waistband of his underwear at his warning.

 

“I know. Just want to be near you. That'll do me fine.” Nate yanked his own fatigues over his head, bundling them up and throwing them against the wall.

 

They settled into bed together, Danse pulling Nate close against him and resting his chin against the top of his head. Nate made a sound of contentment at being held, slipping into sleep shortly after. The caffeine had worn off an hour ago and he was now running on stubbornness.

 

Danse found himself resting easily even with the nap he had earlier.

 

He didn’t dream about Cutler again.

 


	28. Intermission: Magnets

Three and half months prior to the incident at Listening Post Bravo

 

 

Maxson stood on the docking port and watched the Knights and Initiates break from their parade formation with a final salute and scatter out into the airport. Danse was at his side, trying not to pay too much attention for the sake of fairness.

 

The Elder surveyed their movements with interest, quietly critiquing their lack of weaving evasion. They should have alternated between run and sprint to conserve energy, tiring themselves out would compromise their efficiency. The wind was heavy that day despite the clear sky, his coat catching in it and being a mild irritation. The slightest green tint could be seen on the horizon to the southwest, larger than it had been an hour earlier. Once they were done here he was going to have all vertibirds out in the field recalled ahead of the storm sweeping in. It would be a few hours still until that needed to happen, three were expected back within the hour and another shortly after that if he assessment of the situation he had sent them to deal with was right. That still left eleven either overdue or not expected back. Logistics would need to be informed and ready for an influx of vertibirds.

 

Danse looked down at the weapon he had been given with disappointment. It was a pre-war contraption that threw brightly coloured balls of compressed paint. Knight Nate had insisted it was used as part of a recreational sport as well as for training exercises. They were using it for the latter. They were acting as if it were the former.

 

Maxson checked his stopwatch, five minutes had nearly elapsed whilst he ran through an itinerary of the days operations.

 

The airport and its surroundings had been completely swept and cleared off all hostile entities for the purpose of this exercise. It was something that should have been done much sooner, the pile of burning mirelurks attesting to that.

 

All weapons had been taken from the volunteers, their uniforms swapped for darkly coloured civilian wear that they could afford to let be stained by paint.

 

The exercise had been Knight Nathans idea, Maxson finally giving him a chance to prove its merit. He had often espoused the value of stealth as a soldiers skill, a stark contrast to the overt actions the Brotherhood preferred. It was only when he had successfully argued that a soldier should be able to evade capture by a hostile force with nothing but their own ingenuity did Maxson give consideration to it. It was not unheard of for soldiers in the field to be captured, and the ability to evade recapture once they had escaped was deemed a valuable addition to their skill set.

 

Maxson had found Knight Nathan easily after reviewing his proposal. It had been surprisingly well put together, the resources needed already to hand and the work required to set it up fairly minimal.

 

The Knight had initially been quietly monitored, his relations to other groups of interest worrying. It was only after a few months did Maxson realise that Nathan was predictable in his actions and the monitoring stopped.

 

The Elder had checked a single pipe that ran through command, it trembling rhythmically to the touch. That confirmed exactly where Knight Nathan would be.

 

Whenever Knight Nathan worked on his armour he would listen to music, humming along with it much to the annoyance of the armoursmith scribes. He would take off his pipboy and wrap it around a very specific pipe, it angled just right so the the small speaker reverberated against the hull as a giant amplifier. He had taken quite some time discovering this, the exact spot marked out with a small paint outline. One of the pipes on the command deck was evidently linked enough to faintly carry the sound.

 

Knight Nathan had to convince at least a handful of volunteers to be part of the first session if it was to go ahead. He had instead found no shortage of willing participants. Maxson was less than pleased just how little they were treating it as a proper training exercise, the ship had been abuzz with excitement all morning. They were acting like the children aboard playing 'Hide and Seek' and showing about as much maturity. The Elder hoped he would not have to intervene like he did when the pilots started tipping Brahmin with the wingtips of the vertibirds.

 

It had not been missed that the flight deck had filled up with Scribes and Soldiers that aught to have been attending to their duties. There had been another proposal to use the paint guns to give the initiates a degree of tactical training without the inherent risk of live ammunition. Maxson had to wonder if that too would descend into a spectator sport if he approved it.

 

Maxson checked the stopwatch again, the five minute mark just passed. He raised the microphone to his face, flicking the dial when there was a moments respite from the howling winds.

 

“Five minutes have passed. To those who are evading capture I wish you good luck, and to the Paladin, good hunting.” The Prydwens internal announcement system echoed his voice. All throughout the airport the ones tasked with evading capture felt their hearts race; some certain in their hiding laces, others still scrambling in a panic to secret themselves away.

 

Danse flipped his helmet about in his hands and put it on his head, engaging the pressure seals. He immediately saluted, took a breath and stepped off the edge of the flight deck.

 

A heavy thud of armour to old concrete reminded Maxson that the record for farthest distance dropped in powerarmour had still yet to be beaten. He had made the record himself, nobody yet surpassing it. Knight Nathan was the last one to have attempted it and had sheared the inside of the shock absorber hydraulics in his leg armour beyond repair. He had spent a whole day stripping them out and replacing them, the damage disqualifying him from taking the title.

 

The timer was reset.

 

Scribe Haylen was at the ready with a clipboard and a short range radio, waiting for Danse to call his confirmed captures.

 

It was only a few short minutes before it crackled to life.

 

“Knight Rhys.” Haylen dutifully took a reading of the time and put it next to his name. The betting pool had predicted him to be the first captured.

 

Maxson watched Danse climb out of the fuselage of a downed plane, Rhys following a moment later. Even from their lofty vantage point the fluorescent pink paint could be seen covering his chest.

 

He rode the vertibird up to the ship, muttering 'not a damned word' to Haylen as he passed her before heading to his bunk for a clean change of clothes. She allowed the slightest smile to tug at her features, schooling her features and putting on a stiff front for the Elder present.

 

“Knight Vilkas.” he had made a somewhat better attempt than Rhys, stacking crates and debris into a pile and covering it with a tarpaulin to create an inconspicuous hiding spot. Danse had suspected it because there was too little dust covering it.

 

Haylen recorded the time, flipping to the small scrap of paper to check who had bet for and against him. It seemed his brother had put the largest bet against him, the second largest from Paladin Skjor. From memory she could recall they were in a team together; Strike Team Companion with their insignia an antiquated axe over a wolfs head.

 

Knight-Captain Lechance was next. He had made his way into Ingrams repair bay and climbed into a set of power armour covered with a sheet. He hadn’t closed it or powered it up so it wouldn’t draw attention. Danse was alerted to the very fain hiss of weight against the shock absorbers. Knight Captain Lechance returned to the ship having been shot in the back repeatedly.

 

Haylen noted he was tied with Nate in the betting pools, a lot of people had lost caps on that particular bet. Lechance was evidently less skilled at hiding than was expected.

 

Over the next half hour Knights trickled back into the ship wearing the tell-tale pink stains of shame. Nate was not amongst them yet, not that he was expected to be. Haylen had put her caps on Nate not being found by Danse at all, she fully expected him to only show up once the exercise was announced to be over.

 

As the day wore on the last few were found, some even tried to double back to locations Danse had already checked hoping to not get caught. Danse played the role of hunter perfectly, accustomed to running search and destroy missions alone when Maxson needed.

 

“Scribe, how many remain unaccounted for?”

 

“Just one.”

 

Maxson drew a sharp breath. He knew exactly who was evading capture.

 

“The exercise has run over its allotted time. I would like my base of operation returned to proper working order sooner rather than later.”

 

“Should I tell the Paladin to call off the search?”

 

“No, I'll handle this myself.”

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

  
  


Danse had tracked Knight Nathan through the airports underworks for some time. The only indication he was on the right course was the single snack cake that had been left in his path with a note;

 

'Close, but not quite. X X X'

 

Danse had frowned at the three x's that he understood to be a shorthand representation of kisses.

 

He was being mocked by his subordinate and he was starting to feel the edge of irritation wriggling under his skin. He could almost hear Nate's laughter, pushing him onwards.

 

The power had been shut off at some point, when Danse went to check the power relay the fuses had been removed. Pitch darkness was very much the kind of situation Knight Nathan could take advantage of.

 

“Paladin Danse.”

 

Danse swung about, instantly standing to attention and saluting his Elder. He hadn’t heard Maxson approach. Maxson raised his hand to his face, Danse turning his head away so his helmet light wasn't dazzling him.

 

“Sir.”

 

“I take it the stealth and evasion exercises are going well?”

 

“Some of the younger Knights could make some improvements. I've located all but one.”

 

“Knight Nathan?”

 

“Yes, sir.” Even through the helmet Maxson could sense the furrowed brow.

 

“And you've had no contact with him since this exercise started at all?” Maxson raised the light bar he had brought with him, casting the Paladin in a harsh white-blue hue.

 

“None, sir.” Danse couldn’t help but be unsettled by the slightest of smiles that had crept into the Elders face. He was looking at him with concealed amusement. He felt suddenly very small and nervous.

 

“I suggest Paladin that you take off your helmet.”

 

Danse reached up and released the pressure seals, pulling it off. He turned it about in his hands to check it over.

 

Maxson had to carefully stifle a laugh at the expression Danse pulled.

 

'Nate' was spelled out in florescent fridge magnets across the forehead of his helmet. It hadn’t been there when he put it on at the start of the training exercise.

 

“I suggest in future you show a little more vigilance.” Maxson pointed straight up, Danse looking at where he was pointed.

 

Knight Nathan was directly above them, his legs wrapped around a steel support beam as he hung upside down. He took off his gasmask and hooked it through his belt. The grin he wore was almost enough to infuriate Danse.

 

“Sir.” Nate brought his fist down to his chest in a salute. His voice echoed across the warehouse, reminding him how high up he was hanging.

 

“Knight.” Maxson nodded up to him. “Very well done on being the last man standing, though I suspect these exercises were a little below your skill level. I think next time I will be the one hunting you down.”

 

“I apologise sir for my substandard performance.” Danse looked at the ground.

 

“It looks like capture and evasion training might have to stay on the training rotation. It seems nearly everyone involved could stand to do better.” He looked at the rather ashamed Danse, who refuses to meet his eyes. “Present company excluded.” he looked up at the hanging Knight.

 

“Thank you sir, I’m glad you approved my suggestion.” Nate was starting to go red in the face, a few bright spots dancing before his eyes. With a swing of his body he grabbed the support beam and scrambled atop it.

 

Maxson watched as he moved across it, wrapping himself around a pillar and shimmying down it with surprising speed. The Knight was shaping up to be a wonderful asset to the Brotherhood, they just needed to take down some of his less desirable qualities.

 

Knight Nathan made his way to his commanding officers side, standing to attention properly with another salute.

 

“At ease.” Maxson repeated the salute back.  He motioned to Danse to hand over the radio. “Knight Nathan recovered.”

 

“Elder Maxson?” Haylens voice crackled faintly through the device after a moments pause.

 

“Yes Scribe. If you would please mark it down that I was the one who found him on both the official documents and the betting tally, and make sure whoever is running the gambling ring is made aware of my displeasure.”

 

“Yes sir.”

 

H e handed the radio back to Danse and turned to addres s Nate.

 

“I suggest you take the Paladin back to the ship. I would also like you to draft up a series of exercises to bring up our soldiers to an acceptable standard, I expect it in my hands by weeks end. Your old world knowledge is appreciated, as the codex states; through discourse, we gain the strength of our Brothers’ minds. Your team has the rest of the day off, I suggest you spend it well. Dismissed.”

 

Maxson turned and left Nate and Danse alone in the darkness.

 

Nate counted down in his head until he was out of earshot of them.

 

“Our Elder is out of range now. You can chew me out about the magnets.” Nate bit his lip to keep the smile from blooming.

 

Danse took a short breath in through his nose.

 

“Your skill in stealth and evasion is without fault. Your professionalism however leaves much to be desired.” Danse removed the magnetic letters from his helmet and handed them back to Knight Nathan who immediately slipped them into a pouch. The Paladin caught a brief sight of several more letters in there. He had no doubt that if the Elder hadn’t come down to call an end to it Nate would have spent all afternoon tagging his armour with them and avoiding detection.

 

“Would you believe me if I said I was teaching you something about keeping constant vigilance?” Nate looked up at Danse. He returned the look flatly, searching Knight Nathan's expression for something.

 

“If I didn’t know you well enough I would consider it. I don’t believe you for one moment.”

 

“Thought not.” Nate shifted his weight from foot to foot awkwardly, lowering his head as Danse's gaze became a little too intense and his cheeks blushing a little too obviously. He reached into one of his taller pouches and removed a bottle of Cherry Nuka, shyly holding it out as an offering. Danse took it without a word.

 

It made him feel no better about himself that Knight Nathan had been carrying excess weight; and a glass bottle at that, whilst coming within touching range of him without being seen or heard in any way. He didn’t have that bottle at the start, likely having stashed it somewhere along with the snack cakes that had used as bait.

 

Whilst Danse had been scowling at the note left with the cake Nate had placed the magnets on him. A well set trap that would have fallen apart if Danse had simply looked up for even a moment. Nate's heart had been in his throat hanging from the pipes, certain his breathing or heartbeat would give him away. He had been relieved when he heard Danse snort in derision and stomp onwards and away from him.

 

A more petty man would seek a measure of revenge for embarrassing him in front of their Elder. Paladin Danse prided himself on being a beacon of integrity and would not seek retribution. Once he told Haylen about what had happened he was certain she would take it upon herself to shuffle their training rota around until Rhys and Nate had close combat drills against each other.

 

Nate felt a shiver run down his spine at that small, knowing smile Danse wore.

 

Danse sipped at his Nuka whilst remembering the last time Nate and Rhys were made to spar against each other. Nate had been disarmed, picked up, dropped to the floor and pinned in position with his arm twisted behind his back and Rhys weight against him.

 

The part Danse had not been privy to was Nate completely catching Rhys off guard by softly moaning 'harder' and taking the moment of stunned embarrassment to flip the situation. Rhys turned it back around quickly, that time making certain that Knight Nathan had his face and mouth particularly buried into the ground. Haylen had been acting as referee and called it there, she had heard what Danse had not and was glad nobody else had. Nate lacked anything resembling decency.

 

It had not gone unnoticed that while Danse and Gladius team were a good influence on Knight Nathan, Nate was a terrible and corrupting influence on them in return.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had this up on my tumblr for nearly a year, along with some of the other intermission chapters and some cut parts. This was one of the earlier parts I wrote for this fic, and maybe doesn't hold up as well as some others.


	29. A Choice Made

Day 14 since the incident at Listening Post Bravo

 

 

Luck could only be pushed so far before it snapped back and took its due. The same could be said of the Brotherhood.

 

It had always been a bold risk activating assets inside the airport, but the tiny handful of sleeper agents they had gotten into their ranks did their job admirably. A small gap in the security, a patrol diverted by a trivial error and a rounding mistake that sent out a few strike teams a little early were all that it took to get five of her best in and out in stolen uniforms. Even now the Brotherhood were fighting to douse the flames that had once been their food stockpile.

 

What she had not expected was for the team to return in full Brotherhood armour, the five of them marching into the agreed upon rendezvous point as bold as day and proud as lions making more noise than a grenade in a kitchen. A grenade in a kitchen had been what started the fire.

 

That had been the final straw in Maxsons patience. They had not just added insult to injury, they had piled the grievous offences against the Elder a mile high and set it alight in challenge.

 

The call had come in when Desdemona had been away taking a smoke break on a nearby roof and enjoying the smoke most definitely not from a break billowing out under the Prydwen.

 

There was a pair of deckchairs set up on the rooftop, Deacons doing if she had to guess. The cache of wigs, clothing and Nuka bottles hidden inside a chimney stack also heavily suggested his influence.

 

“Desdemona?” She could hear Drummer Boy on the street below calling for her. She resisted the urge to sigh, wondering just why he thought shouting the name of the known leader of a secret organisation whilst they were in hiding was a good idea.

 

She whistled loudly, drawing his attention and revealing her location.

 

His footsteps as he climbed up the fire escape were unprofessionally loud for an information runner specialised in not being heard or seen.

 

He found her on the deckchair lounging comfortably, a pair of sunglasses on her eyes, a cigarette dangling between her fingers and a margarita glass filled with nuka, a blue paper umbrella and spiralling straw in the other hand. There was something smug and prideful to her in those moments, the thick, oily plumes of smoke on the horizon proof the Railroad could contend with the Brotherhood. It was the kind of theatrical decadence generally expected from Deacon.

 

“Anything to report?”

 

“Bryn Safehouse sent us a message. They want us there as soon a possible, they found something they don't trust to transmit. It sounded urgent.” Drummer watched the horizon, something unreadable and calculating in his expression.

 

“Who do we have available?” Desemona took a sip, watching the thick, syrupy liquid loop and twist its way up the straw.

 

“They very strongly suggested what they had learnt could only be given to you, on your orders. 'Radio silence and trusted channels only' was what they said. They were adamant it was a security risk to even inform me what it was.” Drummer watched as her demeanour stiffened, the cigarette snuffed out and the wide glass set down on the crate it had come from.

 

“Two heavies, we leave in ten minutes, you're coming with me.” Desdemona was already doing calculations, balancing the risks.

 

“Is it what I think it is?”

 

“Could be.” A very Deacon like smile caught the corner of her lips. “I had Bryn safehouse working on intercepting Brotherhood intel. Nothing much else it could be.”

 

“I already asked Lord and Lady to gear up, they're all we have right now.” Drummer would usually have suggested Glory. Desdemona had been sitting in her chair, usually where she would go to drink Deacon under a table and laugh at how weak a human liver was compared to her superior specimen. He hadn’t thought Desdemona was aware of their little meeting spot.

 

“I have a better idea. Brandis has been complaining about being trapped. Lets put him to the test.”

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

 

Bryn Safehouse had once been a comic book shop. The first two floors were kept in a state of deliberate dereliction to put off explorers and raiders from setting up inside. The stairs had been deliberately collapsed, debris piled up in just such a way that the sharp parts dissuaded climbers. There was now an alternate way in from an adjacent building, hidden behind locked doors and multiple arrays of sensors.

 

They had found the door,a thick slab of salvaged metal with a single vision slit, by following the chalk railsigns. Desdemona taped her knuckles against it thrice and gave the password, a hooded figure letting her in without acknowledgement. Drummer returned to street level to keep an eye out for trouble, his paranoia seemed to be flaring brightly given how he was watching every corner and window as if expecting trouble. Desdemona told him to keep watch from across the street and to keep his stealthboy primed and ready to activate at a moments notice.

 

Brandis had to stoop low to fit the short door, a fresh scratch now adorning his helmet where he had misjudged. The agent gave him a sharp look of disapproval before closing and bolting the door shut, muttering to himself about disrespecting his armour.

 

Desdemona and Brandis climbed the stairs to the fourth floor, some sort of studio judging by the half dismantled equipment. Desdemona glanced to every corner by instinct, checking for alternate entrances and exits to the room and finding none. Brandis by contrast focused on the cameras and wondered what salvage value they had.

 

There was a single figure sat at what looked to be the planning table, cleanly shaven and broad of shoulder.

 

She took her seat, opposite the agent.

 

“I was informed you had important intel for me.” Desdemona took out a cigarette, holding it unlit waiting for an answer.

 

“Are you Desdemona? My orders were to make certain it was you and you alone that received this.” His accent was unusual, curt and with more than a hint of Capital Wastes to it.

 

“Thats me.” She acknowledged.

 

Brandis tilted his head slightly as if listening. He leaned against the table idly with one hand and did a quick survey of the room.

 

“Good.” The agent smiled thinly.

 

Brandis immediately flipped the table, putting himself between Desdemona and the agent. The agent went tumbling through the air, landed awkwardly and gave the order to attack over his radio.

 

The shout died on Desdemonas lips when she heard the familiar hiss of servos on the floor below, understanding instantly that they were in the deepest part of a well laid trap.

 

There was a choice made, Brandis touched the seals on his helmet just for a moment. He could have thrown it free and announced his presence, bought himself enough time to have a scribe disarm his collar. He chose to shield Desdemona from fire instead as the 'agent' managed to find his feet and pepper them in pistol fire.

 

Brandis needed only sprint toward him, a single punch with the force only power armour could muster enough to knock the air out of him, a single stamp enough to turn the now fallen pistol into bent scrap.

 

The sound of multiple Knights climbing the stairs meant they were now closed in.

 

“I need you to trust me.”

 

“Do I have a choice?” Desdemona could see what was coming as Brandis hoisted the table up and raised it like a shield.

 

“Probably not.” Brandis took a few steps back, wanting a good run up to this. He took the hand Desdemona begrudgingly offered and hoisted her up against the chestplate of his armour.

 

Just as the first Knight crested the stairs he charged for the window as fast as he could muster. There was a spray of glass followed by the sound of shock absorbers screaming as they hit ground level.

 

Brandis just kept running, having about five seconds of Knights just gawking out the ruined window frame before their Paladin ordered them to open fire. Several hours later Maxson was going to personally debrief that particular team and find himself with a headache that would not abate for several hours.

 

Desdemona had the sense to activate the stealthboy she had strapped to her hip. It heated up alarmingly, straining to cover two people and full set of armour in its field. It gave them enough time to get to safety before it burst into flames.

 

It was dumped unceremoniously into a mailbox as they passed.

 

There was silence between them as Brandis laid her down to rest in a narrow alleyway, breathing laboured. She lifted her shirt, finding the ugliest bruise from hip to shoulder down her whole right side, ribs starkly highlighted.

 

“Condition?” Brandis nodded toward her injuries.

 

“Manageable.” She took the cap off a Stimpak with her teeth and jammed it into her side. The bruising bloomed outward from that point changing from a vivid red and purple to a sickly yellow. She gently pressed at each rib, suppressing a hiss of pain each time until she had checked them all. “Nothing broken, I think.”

 

“Good. We are being pursued.” He was crouched on his knees to reduce his visible profile, watching for movement and listening to the Brotherhood frequency.

 

“You helped us. That was your chance to escape and you helped us.”

 

“Nathan was right. The Brotherhood cannot go on like this.” Brandis sighed, his helmet turning it into a static laced growl. “I am loyal to the Brotherhood, and will do what I have to to preserve our future. If that means helping the Railroad so be it.”

 

“I appreciate it. Stalwart.” Desdemona got to her feet slowly, taking a deep breath just to be certain he ribs were not broken.

 

“Stalwart?” He paused briefly, tearing the wooden boards off a door and shattering whatever locking mechanism had held it shut with a firm kick that was wholly too loud for their present situation.

 

“If your going to be part of the family you need a codename.”

 

“I...” Brandis dropped his military front for just a moment. “...Thank you.”

 

“How about for your first mission you get me to the nearest safehouse alive?”

 

“Sounds good. Boss.” That last word was a deliberate afterthought, and one that was quietly appreciated.

 

They stayed in silence for several minutes.

 

The building they had come to rest in was almost gone, in another decade nature would take it. They sat under the windows, a display board presenting jewellery long since looted hiding them from the outside.

 

The gasp and hiss of power armour got gradually closer, but only one set to Brandis ears.

 

Desdemona drew out a small device, two coils of holotape spooled inside. She would it back with her finger, motioning to Brandis helmet.

 

The Brotherhood soldier reached the broken door, nudging the broken boards with his foot and raising his rifle. He took a tentative step into the shop, scanning the room for the two Railroad operatives.

 

There was a hoarse chattering, followed by hissing. The soldier took a step back, confirming the building as empty over the radio and requesting it be marked for feral clean out later.

 

Desdmeona rather smugly stopped the tape, removing the wire into Brandis helmet and passing it back.

 

Brandis was about to say something when Des very insistently put her hand over his mouth and shook her head, offering him the helmet back. He checked the wire, wondering just how she knew which one connected the internal microphone to the external speaker. It had been Deacons discovery, to the amusement of nobody except Deacon and Nathan, and especially bad to Danse whose armour briefly played nothing but swing jazz until he could find the offending modification.

 

He could hear the Brotherhood forces sweeping street to street, the signal worsening as they got further from them. Desdemona was estimating the time it would take for a search party in full armour to track them down. When twice that time had elapsed she let out an uncertain sigh of relief.

 

“I think we're safe for now.” No sooner had she said it when the air came alive with the sound of vertibird rotors. Her desire to swear was drowned out by the second, third, fourth and fifth vertibird flying overhead. Too many more followed.

 

By Brandis estimation it was nearly all of the Brotherhood Lancers airborne and mobilising, what had started as the thunderbeat of his heart as he worried they would have to run from a hail of lead and laser fire became a dawning, creeping horror when he knew only one reason for so many aircraft to be out at once.

 

He just looked at her, his helmet blank but meaning clear.

 

Deacon would raise an eyebrow so high it seemed to be trying to climb under his awful wig, Glory had that slouching pose and tilt of her head, Nate would bite his lip and let a half smile in, even Danse would careful avoid eye contact and stiffen his pose, the edge of his mouth fighting to break his control. She could see all of those things in the blank face of Brandis helmet, Deacons voice saying 'you had to jinx us, didn’t you boss?' from some dark corner of her mind.

 

Desdemona direly wanted a cigarette and information. One of those urges was considerably stronger than the other.

 

“We need to get moving now. If I’m right Drummer will have headed to the nearest fallback the moment he felt danger, and we're going to need his contacts.” There was something strange and exciting to be out in the world again rather than viewing it through maps and reports, it had been years since she had been a field agent under the last generation of Railroad leadership. It lit a fire in her blood she hadn’t realised had gone out.

 

With a sly smile, flecks of glass in her hair and the kind of bruising that would put Curie into a horrified state she marched forward feeling wonderfully alive.

 

There was a new variable to be accounted for in the plan, and a dazzlingly brilliant opportunity presented itself. Brandis felt suitably concerned with the knowing look she now wore. His concern was not put to rest when an hour later she sat him down with a fresh pot of tea and explained what he was going to do for the Railroad.

 

He did eventually ask why she was carrying a tape of recorded feral ghoul noises. She simply responded by asking how many times Brotherhood teams had avoided reported ghoul nests that later turned out to be empty? Deacon sometimes had brilliant ideas.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I posted a double chapter as apologies for taking so long to update. I've edited a good chunk of the next few chapters, so those should follow in a fairly timely manner.


	30. ...Can Crack the Diamond

Day 15 since the incident at Listening Post Bravo

 

 

 

Deacon and Nate returned from the market with a bag of fresh vegetables and a cut of meat.

 

Danse had been forced to stay inside Homeplate and had occupied himself repairing anything and everything that caught his attention. Nate had been amused by it at first, then quite appreciative when Danse had worked himself warm and sweat slick, shedding all but a tank top and jeans found amongst the folded piles of washing Codsworth had left. It was only once that lecherous pleasure had faded he realised that his Paladin would work himself to death if they didn’t get out of Diamond city soon. With everything wrong with Homeplate Danse would be there until the sun died and the stars faded from the night sky doing repairs and then still find more to do.

 

If he went outside without his armour he would risk recognition, with it he would draw suspicion. He understood that tactical reasons for hiding, he just didn’t like it.

 

There was almost always a few Scribes in the market buying supplies and making their presence known. It had been long enough that the citizens of Diamond City were almost familiar and used to them, sparing only the occasional look in their direction.

 

Nate and Deacon had made an effort to move around them and stay out of sight. There was some kind of commotion going on nearby, Pipers voice distinct amongst it, and it afforded them a little more freedom to move about. Deacon had managed to assemble a disguise for himself from the various clothing Nate owned, moving through the crowds easily and naturally.

 

It had been midday when Danse and had Nate gotten up, Danse distinctly unhappy with how late it was and Nate perfectly contented for the extra hours buried into Danses side under layers of blankets. They did their very late morning exercise before waking Deacon, Nate complaining the entire time that sit ups made his everything sore.

 

Deacon had barely been conscious the entire time, the market trip the first time he had been upright and moving in over a day. It was initially like watching a freshly born radstag learning to walk, and Danse was quite happy to point this out.

 

He had found his way back to the couch and put his head back under the pillow upon returning. Daylight was the enemy, Deacon shaking his fist in the air and cursing the accursed daystar and the pain it brought him. Nate could almost sympathise, even normal stealthboy fields always left him a little light sensitive after use.

 

Once they were certain Deacon was able to travel they were heading back to HQ immediately. The path had been planned out, supplies readied. His left pupil wasn’t quite as responsive as it should have been but he was otherwise healthy. He hadn’t suffered the complete breakdown Nate had, likely because it was his first prolonged exposure. Deacon attributed it to his rugged, manly endurance and had weakly curled his bicep as a show of strength. Danse responded with a much more significant bicep curl of his own, the faintest smug smile gracing his lips when Deacon deflated. Nate just grinned, a mix of pride and lecherous appreciation.

 

They had only let him out the house for a short while because it was obvious he was going mad even after only a day of isolation. Nate again almost sympathised, but reminded him that they had done the exact same thing to him when the situation was reversed.

 

Nate took the food over to the kitchen area and sorted them into cooler boxes, noticing they had gotten slightly more food then they likely needed.

 

Danse stood chopping the vegetables, Nate boiling the flavourings and spices into a broth. Deacon eventually rose and made an effort to clear a space to eat at. With rising irritation he found that very item he moved revealing something else beneath it. The place was chaos, Danse had made a strong effort not to comment on the disorder. It had been a struggle to get him used to keeping his bunk in the airport barracks tidy. Whatever military discipline Nate had from the old world had been as lost and long buried as the stash of fancy lads tins they had found under a stack of kevlar plates.

 

Whatever was happening outside seemed to be getting louder, Piper had acquired a loudspeaker from somewhere but her words were too far away to be clearly made out. Nate would have investigated, if only to be certain everything was fine with the journalist, but decided against it knowing she could fight her way out of a deathclaw nest if there was a salacious story involved just waiting to be dragged into the light.

 

Deacon looked over Danse's shoulder, shaking his head at the awfully uneven cuts. He took the knife from him, gently moving him aside and with a single set of sweeping cuts made them into neat cubes. Danse took the hint and went to try clearing the table. He found himself raging against the barely balanced stacks and layers of broken technology so deep an archaeological Scribe would weep for either joy or horror.

 

Nate and Deacon shared a knowing look between themselves. They were the ones that ended up cooking back at HQ most nights, even if it was somebody else’s turn to do it. They'd watch Desdemona add too little spice or not enough salt, Glory made massacres of perfectly good tatoes, Carrington carved meat with the slow methodical perfection of a surgeon and took twice as long, Tom would add the wrong ingredients and try to experiment with flavours that did not combine well, and in the end they would have to take control of the meal for the good of everyone eating.

 

A hammering noise froze them all in position. It came again after a moment of silence, Dance moving around the corner and out of sight, Deacon raising his sidearm. Nate cautiously scooped up a revolver as he headed to the door, checking the chamber and counting out the remaining three shots.

 

Nate pressed himself against the wall beside the door ready for somebody to burst in.

 

“Who is it?”

 

“The milkman jackass. You gonna open up or not?” Nate breathed a sigh of relief. “I've got company with me, somebody came looking for you.” The tentative readiness was back again full force, blood pumping and ears ringing.

 

He reached over and unlatched the lock with the tip of his weapon.

 

“Come in.”

 

Nick pushed the door open, Nate shielded behind it. Deacon was resting against the couch casually with his gun tucked under a pillow and pointed at the door. Danse had his laser rifle ready, prepared to duck out of cover and open fire if he heard any reason to do so.

 

“Relax kid, I wouldn't lead anybody here unless I could vouch for them.” Nick knew to check behind the door for Nate.

 

“Paranoia is a good trait to have, especially in our line of business.” He lowered his pistol tentatively, giving a wide shrug at the raised brow and slight shake of the head he got.

 

“Its good to see some of what I told you actually sank in.” Desdemona walked out from behind Nick, a much taller figure in power armour following behind her. She leaned against the doorframe for a moment, brushing her shoulder against the railsign chalked there destroying it in the process.

 

“Des. Coming to gawk at the sick and infirm?” Deacon put his own weapon aside, cocking his head at the man behind her.

 

“Trade you.” She untucked her undershirt and lifted it enough for the bruise to show. Deacon pulled a face at it.

 

“I'll keep the headache thanks.”

 

“Should you really be here? Its a considerable risk to travel so far from HQ especially at such a crucial time.” Danse looked out from around the corner, clambering around the piles of scrap to get to her.

 

“Time is against us. This is more than just a house visit for the sick, there’s been a development.” Desdemona pulled up a chair, Nate, Deacon and Danse taking the couch. Nick just leaned against the wall to listen.

 

She nodded to the man who had followed her in as he closed the door and put himself in the way of it opening again.

 

He removed his helmet, giving a Brotherhood Salute to Nate and Danse.

 

“Paladin Brandis.” Nate's brow furrowed at the older man, wondering just why he was with them without any kind of restraint or contingency. He turned to Desdemona a moment later, urgency overriding his slight mistrust. “The Brotherhood knows we're building an army.”

 

“So we're on the same page. We lost Bryn safehouse. They raided Mercer this morning, and the lookouts say they visited Ticonderoga and Switchboard. No casualties, we got everyone out ahead.”

 

“Switchboard and Ticonderoga? Their intel is a little out of date at least. Old Church is still okay?”

 

“We already moved HQ out to the new site so if it isn’t we'll survive. Our remaining agents have been ordered to set fires and run at the first sign of danger. Old Church is yours, its probably for the best we keep Railroad business separate from this plan of yours.” Desdemona folded her arms over her chest.

 

“Any idea where the leak is yet?” Deacon could see the others thinking their own thought and planning for each contingency. So much plotting and so little action. It infuriated him, they needed to keep the momentum and not get caught in their own web of plans if this was going to work.

 

“We have a lead, but right now were thinking some of this is our own fault. We've been acting more visibly as of late, it was pure luck we went so long without detection.”

 

“My sources have been picking up on it too. The whole Commonwealth knows something big is coming between the Brotherhood, Railroad and Institute.” Nick chimed in, meeting Nate's look with his own. He could see the thoughts fall into place. “Courser strike teams, whole swarms of tinmen, vertibirds in the air, Knights on the ground, and a Railroad presence so thick you couldn’t swing a cat in a dark room without hitting a bushel of spies and infiltrators.”

 

“But not the Minutemen?”

 

“That's a whole other kettle of fish.” Nick looked right through Nate with his amber yellow eyes. “My sources seem to think Brotherhood and Minutemen relations are frosty after some kind of misunderstanding. Thats putting it mildly.”

 

“I'll convince Preston, the Minutemen can act as couriers for us.” Nate stopped, thoughts consuming him again. “How long do we reasonably have?”

 

“A week, maybe two, assuming full protocol is followed to cover an area the size of Boston.” Danse put his hand on Nate's arm, squeezing comfortingly for the briefest moment to bring his attention back to the moment before them. “There is a margin of error of a few days to account for both smooth operation and calculated setbacks.”

 

“We have about an hour.” Desdemona watched her three best agents freeze in place and look right at her questioningly. “The Brotherhood has moved forward with their attack on the Institute. There’s a full sweep of the city in progress, west to east. A lot of our agents have been given orders to go into deep cover and make no contact unless the need is dire.”

 

“This is only the first part of the plan.” Brandis spoke up, getting a nod from Desdemona. “The initial sweep is to get a lay of the land and put any settlements into lockdown to avoid interference or civilian casualties. They'll be setting up monitoring equipment all over the city to try and pinpoint the location of the Institute and warn them of any incoming relays. The next step will be a full armed sweep. All boots on the ground, all vertibirds in the air, every hole and hiding place checked.”

 

“Which will compromise all of our operations too. Goodneighbour and the Commons have been ignored thus far. The Mayor has kindly provided us with a few abandoned buildings there to assemble in.”

 

“Hancock likely has an ulterior motive in this.” Nate let out a faint sigh.

 

“He's booked out the Third Rail for a private event. He wants 'to party like the founding fathers and leave a bill equally monumental on the way out' and that was an exact quote. I think there was also a 'you feel me' at the end there somewhere.” Desdemona really didn’t sound enthusiastic.

 

“Sounds about right.” Nate strongly suspected Hancock had negotiated a slew of other terms that were not being mentioned. The Mayor was strongly territorial over his little settlement and would not put it at such enormous risk unless he had adequate assurances and contingencies in place. “I've yet to hear why you brought a Brotherhood Paladin here Des.”

 

Desdemona made a sweeping motion, deferring the answer to Brandis.

 

“I've been in the Brotherhood long enough to see what's coming. Maxson is leading us to a war we might not win. I saw just how many ways we could be wiped off the map; infiltration, starvation, even the artillery pieces the Minutemen have been building could do it in a handful of shots. We need cooperation right now, not to be making more enemies.”

 

Danse shot a look at Nate which softened instantly at his confusion. Nate in turn looked at Desdemona.

 

“Artillery? We agreed not to pursue that plan.” Nate folded his arms as the room turned their sole attention on the Railroad leader.

 

“No, you said they were only to be used if all other plans failed. If we succeed they'll never see use.”

 

“This isn’t what we agreed.”

 

“I won't stand for it either.” Even stood shoulder to shoulder Danse and Nate didn’t make Desdemona flinch.

 

“You gave up the right to make those decisions when you took a three day holiday right as this war started to get tough. I made a choice based on new information and Garvey agreed with my judgement. I don’t have to answer to you.”

 

“Gotta say if Des took action it must be bad. No offensive boss but you tend to take the slow burn option every time.” Deacon was lounging back with a set of sunglasses resting over his eyes that had not been present minutes before.

 

“I choose caution and careful planning over reckless action. The Brotherhood are blockading the city as we speak, jamming all radio frequencies, the Minutemen are being harassed and even attacked when they resist, supplies are being seized 'for the war effort' and you three have been taking the weekend off when we needed you most.”

 

“We heard nothing.”

 

“All communications are being jammed.” Brandis pressed the control for his helmet radio, feeding nothing but static out through the speakers.

 

“Not a common tactic we employ but not unheard of either.” Danse thought aloud. “How did you get through the blockade then?”

 

“Same way as usual.” Desdemona watched the blank looks from Danse and Nate, pushing down the irritation at their cluelessness. “There's miles of tunnels below the city unmapped and unnoticed. We took our name to heart and followed the Railroad. We've already moved the Atom Cats to Goodneighbour that way.”

 

“Has anything else been done in our absence?” Nate was watching Danse collate this new information and working around it. He had already likely adjusted his plans accordingly.

 

“The Minutemen halted all trade with the Brotherhood and we've commenced basic operations against the Prydwen.”

 

“This is news to me.” In truth Nate had been planning to do just that, but did not like Desdemona making the choice for him.

 

“We've had a handful of sleeper agents inside the Brotherhood for some time. As I agreed no permanent harm has been caused. Their food stock have been severely depleted, weapons and ammo have been taken and we've made small acts of sabotage on their systems. We could have smuggled a payload of bombs and stealthboys in and blown the whole thing back to the Capital Wastes and we chose not to. I'm trusting you not to screw this up.” Desdemona had the look of finality on her that Nate had learned not to argue with. She was stubborn when set on her path.

 

“I don't intend to.” Nate could see the look Danse was giving him. It was the one where they needed to have a serious talk about something.

 

“This is all well and good.” Deacon stood up, gesturing vaguely toward the older Paladin. “But that’s a sudden and very convenient change of heart you've had.”

 

“I gave up my command codes and encrypted radio access as proof of my sincerity. I know I’m not fully trusted but I’ve given my word on what honour I have left as a Paladin.”

 

“He had a perfect opportunity to escape.” Desdemona looked to him and back to her gathered organisation. “And instead of running or trying to kill us he chose to stay. We've already discussed this between us. I've already taken in two Brotherhood agents, at this point one more is only a slight extra risk.”

 

“If he swears on his honour then I am inclined to believe him.” Danse gave him an appraising look before making his decision.

 

“Fine. You're already in too deep just by association. You're stuck with us now.” Nate shrugged and felt all to weary and tired of the entire situation. He felt like the power of the choice was out of his hands.

 

“I wouldn’t want to cross you, either of you. I've seen the reports of what you two are capable of. I won't let you down.”

 

“Why didn't you go back to the Prydwen when you had the chance?” Nate watched the uncomfortable shift in his stance, the hardening of his eyes and the regret.

 

“There is only so many lives you can write off as collateral damage before you start to realise something is wrong.” The statement cut through his suspicions, catching him off guard. “I saw the consequences of our actions first hand, remember?”

 

“The Minutemen? Bunker Hill?”

 

“And more since, too many.”

 

“More?”

 

Desdemona passed a few scraps of paper over. They were reports transcribed from various sentries around the Commonwealth, all of them listing the death toll from settlements that had resisted the Brotherhood lockdown.

 

There was a banging from the door and the muffled sound of one of the Railroads runners becoming increasingly distressed.

 

“We're running out of time. We need to go now. Can he travel?”

 

“No need to worry about me. I'm a spry guy in the peak of my prime.” Deacon was on his feet swiftly, a grin on his face.

 

“Whatever you say. Grandpa.” The look he gave Nate was mostly eyebrows and indignation.

 

“Focus. Pressed for time, remember?” Desdemona was again wondering just how these were amongst her best agents. She was out the door quickly, Brandis at her heels with his helmet back on.

 

Danse had already dragged out a duffel bag and was throwing supplies into it. He shoved it into Nates arms, staggering him under the weight of it. With a glance he confirmed the stealth armour prototype was not where it had been left.

 

He staggered over to Danse's armour with it, slinging it over the shoulders and attaching one of his magnetised stealthboys to the chest. Danse climbed in a moment later, giving an appreciative smile to him.

 

Desdemona was found at the center of a fairly large crowd, quietly directing those that were leading the evacuation without being seen to be in charge. Nick was at her side. Piper was standing on a crate and announcing the plan to get everyone out before the Brotherhood arrived. None of the security forces were in the market square, a handful of deeply held debts paid off to well connected detective with their absence.

 

“These can't all be Railroad, can they?” Nate turned to Brandis, nudging him with a sharp clang of armour on armour to draw his attention.

 

“Just civilians. Brotherhood aren’t all that popular right now, too many people fear us. I'm starting to think they're right to do so.”

 

The statement hung in the air between them.

 

“Blue? First time I’ve seen of you in weeks and we're getting ready to leave.” Piper sprinted up to Nate, loudpseaker still in hand with a shiny revolver readied in the other.

 

“I'm supposed to be incognito.” Nate folded his arms defensively. “Missed you too Piper.”

 

“Very incognito.” She looked his power armour up and down pointedly. “So very stealthy.”

 

“So where are you taking everyone?”

 

“Sanctuary. From what we've gathered the Brotherhood will only secure the inner city, out in the old suburbs we should be fine.”

 

“I'm sorry its come to this.”

 

“Its fine Blue, give 'em hell for me though.”

 

“I will. I'll give Magnolia your regards too when I get to Goodneighbour.” There was a sly smile on his face, and she could hear it even through his helmet comms.

 

“You dare.” She raised a finger accusingly, whatever she was about to say cut off by a warning of approaching vertibirds. She adjusted her backpack straps, steeling herself for the journey ahead. Nat was at the front of the crowd, making certain everyone had adequate first aid supplies on hand. “Be safe.”

 

“You too.”

 

“Same from me kid.” Nick tipped his hat, following the group out of the Diamond City gates. “I'll be catching up with you when I’m done getting these to Sanctuary. We still have business to deal with.”

 

It was only a few minutes later came the sound of several vertibirds from the east, the warning sirens blaring for barely one hundred seconds and then silence as the city had been secured. They had dropped Paladins straight in from the air, a lightning strike to catch the security off guard and quickly subdue them. The gates were flung open, the Knights moving in on foot and beginning a full sweep of the city.

 

From a safe vantage point the Railroad watched as the gates were sealed and a Brotherhood flag raised.

 

Deacon and Desdemona spoke nothing the whole time, faces etched deeply with frowns and thoughts buzzing loudly about their futures.

 

Nate watched Danse instead. Both Danse and Brandis wore an expression that was near unreadable, disappointment and something bitter was the best guess Nate could make.

 

He took Danse's hand, barely able to wrap his fingers around the metal plating. He tried to comfort him by leaning up against him. It seemed to have no effect.

 

There would by time later to put things right.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The name is a reference to the Miracle of Sound song 'Some Things Never Change'. One of the lines is 'Havens hard, no steel can crack the diamond'. I thought it appropriate.


	31. A Second Attempt

Day 16 since the Incident at Listening Post Bravo.

 

There was a sound of frustration from Paladin Danse, it coming out like an electric growl through his helmet comms. Deacon did not heed the obvious warning.

 

“I'm just saying we all know you're handsy when you're asleep. When you and Charmer are in the same bed its adorable to watch. You're like a lonely octopus, maybe crossed with a bear. Octobear? Beartopus? Or would it be an Octobi cause plural of octopus is octopi, I think.” Deacon had that look about him that infuriated Danse, the tug of a smirk on the edge of his lips threatening to turn into something mocking.

 

“This entire conversation is pointless. Please cease it immediately.” Danse could feel it bubbling up inside, the urge to do something that in earlier, better times would earn him a court marshal and probably Cutlers approval.

 

“And there’s the Paladin with a stick up his ass we all know and love. Well, Charmer loves you, I think we should just be friends. Its not me, its you.” Deacon was pushing his luck and he knew it. Curie had ordered he not go on any trying missions, managing to wrangle a simple afternoon of escort duty with the Paladin.

 

The route had been checked several hours before by Nate and Brandis, confirmed as safe. Brotherhood patrols only crossed it every six hours, leaving them a wide margin to travel.

 

Desdemona stopped in her tracks at the head of the group and turned back to Deacon.

 

“I'm not one to give orders that fall outside of our mission, but would you seriously consider shutting up for five minutes? Just five minutes? That’s an order.” She could feel the dire need for a smoke break.

 

“Are you ordering me to consider it Des? Because I’ll consider it all day. Doesn’t mean I’ll actually do it though.”

 

“Can I gag him?” Danse was seriously considering it. He could clearly and vividly recall his training on how to bind and secure a target for extraction. “I could tie him up and carry him if it comes to that, I was properly certified in it.”

 

“I'm afraid not.”

 

“Properly trained in the art of tying people up? You should let Charmer know, guarantee he'll get several nights of fun out of that.” Deacon almost considered adding a pun to the effect of 'if it _comes_ to that, I think charmer would _come_ to that' but thought that was perhaps too far. Far enough that even Des would turn a blind eye to Danse finding out if you could tear a mans lungs out using only a set of power armour.

 

There was about to be a harsh, bark of a reply when Danse was cut off by a shriek of static and his helmet comms picking something up. He tilted his head, tapping his faceplate twice and making a cupping ear motion to signal he was picking up something.

 

“ _We have three incoming. I see power armour amongst them. Snipers, confirm.”_

 

“ _Its Brotherhood power armour, but the rest looks like civilians.”_

 

Danse raised his hand, signalling Desdemona and Deacon to do the same.

 

“ _They've stopped. I think they've waving at us?”_

 

“This is agents Liberty and...” Danse took a frustrated breath “...Death Bunny here to collect the package.”

 

“ _We've been expecting you. Your other agent is already here and studying it, he says it seems like the real deal. Sorry about the precautions.”_

 

“Quite alright, over.” Danse looked toward Desdemona. “Brandis has confirmed the authenticity of the ciphers.”

 

There was a look of deep thought from Desdemona.

 

“Good.”

 

They approached the lone house, Deacon idly noticing the small devices that were no doubt movement sensors scattered about the place.

 

“Welcome to Taffington Safehouse.” The cell leader threw open the front door, looking uncharacteristically exuberant for the mostly quite dour Railroad. Deacon quite approved.

 

Brandis was just behind her, nodding knowingly toward Danse.

 

“Its a pleasure to be here.” Desdemona smiled thinly at her. “Progress?”

 

“Plenty. Mr Brandis here has been at it all morning, with our help.” She lead them through the house, waving her toward the terminal that had been set up in the corner of what had once been the kitchen. There was several agents crowded around it prodding the stream of information, excitedly buzzing at the opportunity to study it first-hand.

 

The drive was sat on a pile of old magazines arranged like a pedestal for it, wires trailing out of it.

 

There was a dining table covered in schematics and plates of half eaten food. Brandis took a seat at the table, slouching unhappily like he was in his own personal hell.

 

He had been suffering what felt like an endless barrage of questions about Brotherhood protocols, security measures, and numerous other technical questions he was certain were better suited to a Datasmith Scribe. It reminded him of those awful missions where he had to take a whole gaggle of new Scribes on tech recovery, watching as they catalogued every find with the boundless enthusiasm of a newborn puppy digging in the dirt.

 

Desdemona was starting to understand why Carrington had selected this particular group to run this outpost, far from where he had too see or hear them.

 

One of them bounded up to Danse with something behind her back.

 

“You're Liberty right?”

 

“That is my official Railroad designation, yes.” Danse watched her bounce on her heels.

 

“Charmer left this for you.” She held out a box of snack cakes and a bottle of Nuka Cherry. “He also asked me to tell you that 'he loves you, you know that right?' when I handed them over. The girl was turning an interesting colour. So was Danse as he accepted them, fighting very hard to keep a professional front.

 

He nodded politely, turned away and let the smile break through for just long enough. He found a space to stand out of the way, carefully shovelling mouthfuls of cake whenever nobody was looking. It was a difficult task in power armour, but he managed.

 

“How much longer do you need?” Desdemona had a wicked smile on her face, wondering just how many more hour Brandis could survive in their presence.

 

“Too long. I suggest we take the drive back with us. I believe your analytic engine should be able to crack the security in only a few hours.” His look back was intense.

 

“I dislike having to expose Pam to something untested, but we need to know sooner rather than later. Get everything packed up.”

 

Deacon sauntered up to a mannequin propped up in a corner, surrounded by various tools. He recognised the pattern of emitter coils, though this set was neater in design.

 

“Charmer left us the plans, asked if we could throw a set together in a hurry. He said we would need several of them by weeks end.” One of the agents raised the switch, flicking it off and on again.

 

Deacon took a step back, remembering the hammer blow hangover all too freshly.

 

Danse finished his Nuka cherry, putting his helmet back on. He tilted his head for a moment before crossing the room at a sprint.

 

“We have a problem.” He played the helmets radio signal through his speakers.

 

“ _...we are approaching the target now. Rapid strike, no survivors. We have reason to believe Railroad leadership will be present.”_

 

“I see a vertibird.” One of the agents was leaning out of the window toward the horizon with their sniper rifle.

 

“Paladins, go, now.” Desdemona motioned to the back door, leading onto the river.

 

“We should stay and defend this position.”

 

“We can get away unseen, you two cannot. Return to HQ, we have to cover our tracks.”

 

“Good luck.” Danse pulled a salute. One of the Taffinton agents thrust a small beacon into his hands along with the drive with the Brotherhood ciphers on them. The proximity sensor for Brandis' collar flashed once at its presence.

 

The agent that had explained about the armour had grabbed it from the mannequin and thrown it over Brandis, helping him close the straps.

 

“You're going out there without any armour, you should take it back.”

 

“Appreciated kid, stay safe.”

 

The climbed out of the rear window and followed the river, getting out of sight just as the Vertibird landed. Danse had managed to destroy most of the windowframe on his way out.

 

With a shout Desdemona gave the order for the fires to be set, the air thick with the sickly smell of kerosene oil and cheap alcohol. She did a headcount of the agents, nodding for the next one to activate their stealthboy and follow them down the river.

 

The Taffington agents were at least well rehearsed in what to do if the outpost was ever under siege.

 

There was a distant shout of 'breach and clear' as the front door was blasted to splinters by laser fire. The distant hiss and thump of power armour followed for only a moment before the mines freshly planted in the entry hall did their work.

 

The power armour was thrown back a considerable distance leaving an impressive line through the dirt where he skidded, the Knight laid out and stunned but alive. Cade was going to have work to do.

 

She took her pistol and aimed a spread of shots out of the kitchen side window, one of the field scribes ducking back into the vertibird with a yelped handful of swearing.

 

“Two more, go.” The smoke was getting thick now, the roof already threatening to buckle.

 

The vertibird could be heard taking off again, a moment later shredding the upper floor of the house with its fore mounted weapon.

 

“Last two, go. We'll be right behind you.” Desdemona was busy scattering cheap moonshine over the kitchen table when she gave the order, Deacon grabbing a woodcutters axe and dismantling the terminal.

 

With a sharp flick of her wrist the lighter was flicked open, sparking to life easily. She lit her cigarette, took a heavy drag of it, touched the flame to the edge of the papers and flicked it back closed with a sharp, satisfying noise. Curie had once again managed to acquire it from Deacon, this time not noticing when it had vanished into Desdemonas care.

 

“They knew Des. The Brotherhood knew we'd be here.” Deacon swung one last time, shattering what he hoped was something important into tiny fragments.

 

“Second time this has happened in two days. Their informant is getting desperate. We have the upper hand now.”

 

Deacon passed her a spare stealthboy, both of them escaping a half minute before the roof finally collapsed and fire destroyed any trace of anything useful to the Brotherhood.

 

The Brotherhood team had to sit for two hours waiting for the fires to go out and another hour for it to cool only to find a lack of bodies that confirmed their targets as dead. With an irritated snort the Paladin in charge had to report back that the mission was unsuccessful. He scratched some of the red paint on his shoulder away, patience all too short.

 

Elder Maxson was not going to be happy.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is possibly the shortest chapter at only 1800 words so i posted it alongside the previous one. I figured there was no need to keep people waiting for something this brief.


	32. Third Times a Charm

Day 17 since the Incident at Listening Post Bravo.

  
  


 

Nate picked up a glass bottle, swirling the last few drops of the dark liquid with a frown. He poured it into the broth, tasting it and pulling a sour expression. He waved toward his pack frantically, unable to reach it without likely losing the spoon into the depths of the pan.

 

Deacon pointed to the discarded backpack, getting a frantic nod. He fished out another glass bottle, held it aloft as Nate made grabbing motions toward it and put it down just slightly out of his reach and walked away.

 

Nate was not in the least surprised, a sense of familiar disappointment settling in. Deacon was cackling quietly to himself nearby, watching him try to bring it closer with a fork and succeeding only in rotating the bottle slightly.

 

There was a sound of irritation from the planning table as Danse looked up from reading various reports, his patience already thin with how lacking in formal, codified terminology the disparate array of notes and reports he had been given were. He finished the page he was on, set it inside the small firebox with a stack of others and dropped a match into it. It was deemed a necessary measure to leave no paper trail whatsoever, especially with the looming threat of the Brotherhood returning always hanging over them. He also took a considerable amount of satisfaction seeing it burn, preferring even the centuries outdated terminology Nate used. He had yet to learn what a SNAFU was and why it was standard operation for the Brotherhood.

 

He marched over, taking the bottle and studying its label before handing it over.

 

“Soy sauce? Isn’t that considerably adverse to your health?” Danse watched as a considerable amount was dumped into his food.

 

“We are eating irradiated mutant cow, a little extra salt isn’t going to kill us. I wish we had sesame oil too.” Nate frowned at the bottle, tearing the label off and discarding it. Danse picked it up, seeing the image of what he assumed was supposed to be a man of asian ancestory with glaring beady eyes and pointed teeth. The slogan was 'the flavor of the eastern devils' in swirling writing. Danse had seen similar imagery on posters decrying the communist enemies of America.

 

Nate took the label from his hands, scrunched it up small and threw it across the room as if it had personally irritated him. It landed in the firebox, crackling and spitting.

 

“I think its safe to assume you don’t approve of the sentiment expressed? I know it wasn’t an unpopular opinion in your time.”

 

Nate took a breath, a tension gathering in his shoulders.

 

“Sentiments like that are what lead to the world burning. It never seemed that bad at the time, its only looking back I can see it for what it really was. I knew a family, the Carlisles that was taken because they were of Chinese ancestory. One day everything was fine, the next they were just gone.”

 

“Carlisle?” Danse raised an eyebrow. “Unusual name for a family of that descent.”

 

“Their great grandmother married a Scotsman, the name stayed.” Nate recalled the portrait of them that hung up above the mantle of their house, a mighty man with a beard and a waistcoat next to a young woman with stark dark hair framing her face and an expression like she was trying not to laugh at whatever joke her husband had just told. They both seemed so happy.

 

Nate was lost in memory for a few moment longer before he continued.

 

“I went to highschool with a few of their kids. Their oldest son was on track to play professional baseball but that was before Anchorage happened and everything went to hell.”

 

“I've read about the last few years of the old world in the Citadel archives, I know exactly how bad we let things get.”

 

“I passed their house a couple years ago...” Nate paused when he realised that it was only a couple of years from his skewed perspective “...and it was boarded up. 'Assets siezed from enemies of the state' was painted on the door. Never heard from them again, though I can guess what happened to them.” Nate had heard stories.

 

“I'm sorry to hear that.”

 

“We hurt our own with crap like that while the real spies were smart enough to stay hidden. If there ever even were spies on our soil. We turned on our own. Look where that got us.” Nate was staring into the firebox, watching as the last of the leering yellowed face was consumed by flames. He had to wonder for a short moment if a certain ghoul and his ship had managed to cross the ocean. He hoped they had.

 

“The old world could be awful. We've moved on from thinking like that, and the Brotherhood tries to keep that kind of evil buried where it belongs.” Danse said it sincerely, but Deacon eavesdropping let out a harsh, sarcastic laugh.

 

“Because the boys in steel totally aren’t trying to wipe out an entire race or anything. You just want to give the synths a nice big hug and a pat on the back. Send them all away to live on a farm. What’s that saying about things changing, things staying the same?” Deacon shook his head at how blind Danse could be.

 

Nate had the decency to look ashamed for both of them. Danse just squared his shoulders and ignored what was said completely.

 

“Shouldn’t this have perished years ago?” Danse checked the bottle for an expiration date, his change of subject as subtle as could be expected from a man who near constantly wore inch thick armour plating.

 

“Its fresh.”

 

“Can't be.”

 

“My vault had a ton of food in deep freeze on one of the lower levels. Big cryo chambers, safe for anything short of actual people. It took a while to get the elevators working but there's a lot of good stuff down there. Someone screwed up the order for a hundred bottles and got a hundred boxes of soysauce. We have enough to last a very long time.”

 

“Good to know. Might be worth sending a handful of Scribes down there to catalogue it all. Was there much in the way of fruit or vegetables down there?” Danse had that sharp look on his face, the one he wore when he was left to his own with a pile of spare parts and weapon.

 

“I think there was. We only opened one of the chambers. If the delivery manifests are accurate there should be.” Nate shrugged. He hadn’t had much interest in going back there again. The only reason he had allowed Preston and Sturges to rig up a generator and have their own expedition into the lower levels was that it provided him access to the server banks where he could rewrite the outer door controls to only allow himself access. He had planned to permanently seal that place off from the world so it could be forgotten.

 

“There could be seeds from various extinct species down there. With proper time and care we could bring them back.”

 

“A thought for the future.”

 

There was a harsh crackle from the radio, Danse darting to pick it up.

 

“This is HQ, we hear you. Over.”

 

“Monsieur Danse. We are under attack. Help us.”

 

“Can't you call for help from any of our forces stationed nearby?” Danse had seen the new base of operations. A loud enough shout from the upper floor could probably be heard by Hancock in his stately house. The place would be flooded by armed Minutemen, Goodneighbour security forces, Atom Cats and Railroad stragglers and likely Kleo looking to turn something to ash. Almost the entire clientèle of the Third Rail were now 'undercover' Railroad operatives waiting for the big day.

 

“I'm afraid in my condition I cannot reach a window to call for help. I'm sorry.” Curie was speaking quietly. Whoever had attacked the base was likely still nearby.

 

“Condition? Curie, confirm your current state.”

 

Nate snatched the receiver out of Danses hands.

 

“Curie, please tell me you're okay.”

 

“Dishonesty is your forte I'm afraid.” There was a too long pause. “I'm sorry.”

 

The line went dead with a sharp crunch and then a fuzzy droning of static.

 

Nate slammed the received down hard enough to crack the casing.

 

Deacon had already gotten two power cores and their weaponry from the shelves.

 

Nate dashed toward his power armour, seeing the stealth armour sitting ready on the workbench next to it. He dithered between them before making his choice.

 

“How fast can you get to Goodneighbour on your own?” He looked at Danse.

 

“Armour only marginally slows my progress. I'll be barely a handful of minutes behind you. Go. And be safe Soldier.”

 

“Love you too Danse.” Nate was gone in an instant, Deacon at his heels.

 

Danse slotted the power core in and climbed inside, skipping the usual warmup checks. His armour had never failed him before, he wasn’t expecting it to fail now.

 

 

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

 

 

Nate pushed open the door, noting that the locks were all intact. He checked them with his fingers, cold and smooth. He had expected them to be sheared by force or blasted apart by weapons fire. He made the military hand signals for 'wait' 'cover' 'follow' 'three' 'ten' 'seconds' 'quiet' and got a blank look in return.

 

“Cover my entry, follow in thirty seconds.” Nate whispered, moving through the doorway.

 

The heavy that had been guarding the door was slumped over, a look of surprise still frozen on his face. Nate didn’t check for a pulse, the pool of blood was too vast for him to have survived. He stepped over the corpse slowly, keeping low to the ground with his weapon raised. His boots made an unpleasant sticking noise, leaving thick red prints for several paces.

 

A sweep of the first floor was clear. One of the agents had been sitting at a desk studying a copy of the Prydwen schematics when they were caught by surprise. Nate was uncertain which had a deeper dent, the table edge or the front of their skull.

 

He flinched as Deacon lifted their head, saying her codename was 'Tourist' and that she had been one of their better strategists. Nate could passingly recall her, remembering how she haggled fiercely during meal times at HQ, he had always left feeling a little cheated when she traded him for a bottle of Quantum.

 

They moved up to the next floor. There was another agent slumped against the wall, they had a pistol next to them. Nate checked it, noticing that none of the bullets had been discharged. They had managed to draw before being peppered with shots. Two shots to the chest, both striking the heart.

 

Deacon lowered his glasses, looked at Nate and mouthed 'Courser' to him.

 

With the tip of his gun he pushed the door to the last room open. Curie was curled around the shattered remains of the field radio, still clutching the microphone.

 

It was the smallest of the rooms with only space for a desk, a handful of filing cabinets and a grimy window high up on the wall.

 

“Charmer.” Nate spun on his heel, weapon raised to the empty room.

 

“Not me.” Deacon shook his head, raising his hands.

 

“I'm over here.”

 

There was the sound of a stealth field collapsing, the air smelling of steel and burning as it crackled and distorted. Drummer smiled thinly, slumped between a desk and a filing cabinet.

 

“Drummer Boy, you okay man?” Deacon knelt at his side, getting a sharp, pained hiss when he tried to move the hand clutching at his side away. There was a considerable amount of blood staining his front. He refused to move his hand away from where it appeared he was wounded.

 

“Could be better.”

 

“Who did this?”

 

“Didn’t get a clear look. I heard shots, barely had time to strap myself in before I got hit. Managed to hide here, didn’t do me much good though.” He coughed once, scrambling to his feet and leaning against the wall as if he was about to fall over again.

 

“Secure safe was broken into.” Nate noticed the lock had been shattered, the front peppered with laser and shotgun fire before what appeared to be a cutting torch had been taken to it. The edge was still orange and smoking. The only thing missing was the drive containing the Brotherhood cyphers. “This was our Brotherhood informant.”

 

“I am not looking forward to telling Des this.” Deacon helped Drummer to the threshold of the room, propping him up against the doorframe. He offered to take a look at his wound and was refused.

 

Nate knelt at Curies side, gently turning her over. He pressed two fingers to her throat to be certain. His heart caught in his throat when he found her pulse.

 

Her eyes fluttered open, darting about the room. She settled on Nate, then Deacon who was scanning through the scattered papers for anything of interest, and then finally out the door, her eyes going wide in panic.

 

Nate instantly knew. He threw himself sideways, the wall exploding in plasters and brick fragments. Deacon startled, squeezing a hnadful of shots off at the now retreating Brotherhood agent. Nate returned fire with his laser rifle.

 

Drummer Boy swore, hitting the activation switch for the chameleon armour as he ran. He got half way down the staircase when Nate tackled him, tearing at the first bit of wiring he got his fingers into. The field distorted, hitting the front of his brain like a sledgehammer of nausea and vertigo.

 

He managed to stumble ahead of Drummer in a daze, blocking the exit. What he hadn’t expected was for Drummer to tackle him out of the way without even slowing. Drummer was smaller and slighter of build than he was, but struck like he had just taken Elder Maxson to the chest. His landing was awkward, shoulder screaming at him as to got up and took off in pursuit.

 

The stealth field collapsed just as Drummer Boy reached the street, now having to duck from a poorly aimed spread of laser fire and Nate shouting down Goodneighbours security forces to stop him. Deacon took aim from the window, missing his last two bullets by a fingers width each time.

 

Drummer climbed the barricades and vaulted over the top of the wall, landing with a roll and taking off at a sprint. Nate had to take the door, his shoulder throbbing at the mere thought of having to climb the Goodneigbour walls.

 

“Requesting an emergency relay out. My mission was compromised.” Drummer slotted an earpiece in, stopping behind a wrecked car and peppering a handful of shots in Nates direction. Nate narrowly avoided them.

 

There was a build up of static in the air as the Institute locked on to him. He grinned in victory before a steel coloured blur barrelled into him, slamming him full body into a wall with a wet crunch. The lightning crack of relay missed, taking a chunk of broken concrete and a circular section of rusted car instead.

 

Danse tore the earpiece out and crushed it between his fingers, dropping Drummer Boy to the ground where he struggled to breath. There was a moment when Danse considered putting a shot from Righteous Authority through him but decided against it when Drummer stilled on his own.

 

Preston was on the scene a minute later, Hancock sauntering after him wondering just why there had been a fire fight through his town that nobody had invited him to. His presence had brought most of Goodneighbour out with him.

 

He motioned to Drummer Boys body, then Nate, then Danse as if awaiting an explanation.

 

Deacon arrived a short moment later. He had left Curie with the Minutemen, their medics scrambling for supplies.

 

“Your knife.” Danse held his hand out toward the Mayor, the tone not one he was going to refuse.

 

“Careful with her. She's been with me through good times and bad. She been through good people and bad too.” He tossed and caught it with a flourish, offering the handle.

 

“Drummer Boy was human, correct.” He had that darkly serious look on his face, turning to Deacon.

 

“Yeah.” Deacon nodded, hoping Danse wasn’t about to do what he thought he was.

 

Danse lifted Drummer by the head, and slid the blade in through the connecting point between spine and skull. Nate flinched and turned away.

 

It sank in only a few inches before striking something solid, as he had suspected. He turned the blade and struck it again to be certain.

 

“That wasn’t our agent. This was an Institute infiltrator. A synth.” He almost spat the words.

 

Desdemona pushed her way through the crowd just as Danse harshly pulled the blade out and dropped the body in disgust.

 

“What happened?” Her voice was perfectly calm, carrying with a force that made Danses training snap to the forefront of his mind. “Several of my agents are dead. Explain. Quickly.”

 

He stood bolt tall, head held high.

 

“We have reason to believe Drummer Boy was replaced by an Institute operative. I performed a field test for cybernetic enhancements indicative of synth biology.”

 

“He tried to relay out. Definitely Institute.” Nate motioned to the molten edged curve cut out of the ruined chassis of the car. One of the Relay technicians was going to have an awful time explaining that away.

 

“Was he our Brotherhood informant?”

 

“Looks like it. Makes sense, divide and conquer.” Deacon chimed in.

 

“Encryption drive.” Nate had been fishing through the infiltrators pockets looking for it, holding it aloft when he found it. “That confirms it. He fell for the trap.”

 

“Trap?” Deacon lowered his glasses, looking between Desdemona and Nate.

 

“There never was a cypher, and there was no recording just waiting to be decrypted.” Desdemona would have been more smug in her victory if it hadn’t cost a number of lives. “We leaked that the photographs were on a network drive inside the Goodneigbour safehouse. The operatives inside were to lead anybody not personally approved by myself or Deacon into an ambush.”

 

“Brandis was in on the whole thing. He's going to be less than happy when he hears the Brotherhood were taken for fools.” Nate looked to Danse hoping he would bear that responsibility. He instead got the cold, blank stare that suggested he was on alert. It would have to be discussed later.

 

“And that’s how he got in. He was trusted.” Desdemona had given her agents an order that had gotten them killed. Another handful of names needed adding to the memorial, already far too full after Glory was added to it.

 

“And the Institute knows he's failed.” Nate jolted bolt straight, eyes going wide. “They know everything. Drummer was in on everything we've been planning. They know where all our safehouses are.”

 

“We adapt, we've come to far now to abandon everything. If they wanted to attack they would have done so already. They want us to deal with the Brotherhood for them, that means we're safe until then. We just have to keep our guard up.”

 

“Awfully thin line we're treading at this point.” The Mayor drawled as he wiped his knife clean with a ragged cloth he had hidden in some concealed pocket in his jacket. He tried not to think what was on it.

 

“Did Drummer Boy have any next of kin we should be informing?” Danse spoke without looking away from his post, scanning the adjacent streets for incoming threats. He knew well enough that the institute disposed of the originals.

 

“No.” Desdemona shook her head.

 

“Brother and Father, both still alive. I know where to find them.” Deacon got a handful of curious looks. “Had one of those days where I got a bit too paranoid, started digging through everyone’s backgrounds. They knew what he was doing.”

 

“Our first priority is making all of our cells aware we have been compromised. If you are in the area and have the time I trust you to handle telling them.”

 

“Not my first time doing this Des.”

 

Nate was stood in the middle of it all as the Mayor dismissed the crowd, Preston rushing to Desdemonas side to make emergency arrangements.

 

He looked to Danse, still standing vigilant and ready above them all and made his choice. He needed to arrange a meeting with Shaun.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the 'Brotherhood' infiltrator is revealed. The original Drummer was replaced several months before Day 1. The Institute had Drummer2 feed the Brotherhood a mix of true and false information to spur both sides into destroying each other. Drummer2 told the Brotherhood he was a relatively new recruit so his identity would not be compromised if Knight Nathan somehow got ahold of that information:  
> "“The informant only made contact a few months ago, and _if what they've told us is true_ they are a relatively new recruit.” Brandis repeated what he knew from the reports Elder Maxson had given him. “The information we received has been sporadic and of dubious quality until now."
> 
> All the other hints I can remember dropping, major and minor, are below:
> 
> Two Coursers attacked Ticonderoga backed up by a handful of Gen2s. He alone somehow survived with only the most minor of injuries.
> 
> He was present at the meeting where protocol for dealing with the Infiltrator was discussed.
> 
> "Curie moved with the kind of hair-trigger reflexes he had only seen from Glory and caught his hand, snatching it back. Deacon tried vainly to grab it back, losing it as she flicked her wrist and threw it across the table. _Drummer Boy snapped it out of the air without looking_ and put it down to his left in front of Brandis."  
>  For the purpose of this fic I've assumed Synths have faster reflexes amongst other enhancements. Not the biggest of hints but I thought it was at least noticeably suspicious in context.
> 
> “And this couldn't be delivered to us by courier? I'm certain you have several you trust for such a task.” Carrington had a frown across his brow, lessened by the knowledge that there was progress being made.  
>  _Drummer let a very slight smile cross his face._
> 
> “We did. The deaddrop was rigged with explosives. Nobody was hurt, but that means the informant is aware that the Brotherhood failed.” Desdemona had seen the damage it had done, Drummer had returned with Brandis' power armour speckled with ball bearings and shrapnel. It would have shredded anything less than heavy armour, anybody unprotected would be a wet mist and small chunks  
> Why did he take Brandis power armour in the first place just to check out a deaddrop? He destroyed any evidence and faked the trap, the armour being damaged was just the proof he needed.
> 
> "Drummer had tailed along with him part of the way before going his own way." "Drummer Boy hadn’t said it aloud but the suspicion was there, that he wanted to be certain Deacon got there alive and well after too many close calls with the promise of more to come."  
> Drummer followed Deacon almost to the Atom Cats base just so he could get the timings right when he informed the Brotherhood.
> 
> "Drummer Boy had been out too often as of late, all he had said is that it was on Des' orders and could not elaborate further."
> 
> "“Desdemona?” She could hear Drummer Boy on the street below calling for her. She resisted the urge to sigh, wondering just why he thought shouting the name of the known leader of a secret organisation whilst they were in hiding was a good idea."
> 
> "“Bryn Safehouse sent us a message. They want us there as soon a possible, they found something they don't trust to transmit. It sounded urgent.” Drummer watched the horizon, _something unreadable and calculating in his expression._
> 
> "Drummer returned to street level to keep an eye out for trouble, his paranoia seemed to be flaring brightly given how he was watching every corner and window _as if expecting trouble._  
>  He knew not to fall into his own ambush.
> 
> There are probably a few more hints, I know at least one that had to be removed during editing: Drummer was going to go out on patrol with one of Carringtons heavies and return alone having been 'ambushed' by the Institute.
> 
> I hope everyone reading isn't too disappointed by this twist. I've been sitting on this for months trying very hard not to let it slip.


	33. You'll Live

Day 18 since the incident at listening post bravo.

 

 

 

Screws skittered across the stone floor, the wrench Danse had just put down trembling toward Nathans armour as he frowned at it. He disengaged the magnets, checking the schematic again. The last attempt months ago had been a disaster, he was not confident his own attempt would be any better. Brandis was reading the other half, laying out the parts in a precise order. The neat row of parts he had made were now clumped together in a ball and attached to the right shinplate.

 

Sturges and Deacon were arguing over food. Sturges was holding a wooden spoon out toward Deacon like it was a knife, Deacon in response was waving a glass jar of spice like a live grenade. Sturges insisted the flavour of the meat needed no compliment, only time to become tender. Deacon disagreed.

 

“You.” Sturges grabbed Nate as he passed. “Taste this.”

 

“Never been a fan of tatos. They taste like Mama Murphy smells.” Nate pulled a sour face, handing the spoon back with a flinch and a crinkling of his nose.

 

“Be nice to the little old lady. She's done us right so far.” Sturges let a short laugh free, a barely serious frown taking its place.

 

“Gathered around a soup pot like witches to a cauldron.” Nate took a theatrical breath and put on a cackling voice. “When shall we three next meet? In thunder, lightning, or in rain?”

 

“When the hurlyburlys done.” Deacon answered smoothly.

 

“When the battle is lost and won.” Danse finished flatly from the power armour dock, eyebrow raised at the other two.

 

Sturges was left wondering what they were going on about.

 

“Never had you pegged as a Shakespeare guy?” Deacon looked at Danse over the top of his glasses, a spark of amusement in his eyes.

 

Nate already knew he was. It had come up a few times in conversation, the Paladin having an alarmingly accurate memory for quoting it. In retrospect it should have been a massive warning sign; Curie could quote the 'Grays Guide to Anatomy' down to the line and X6-88 could cite Institute regulations before Nate had even finished breaking them.

 

“When I joined the Brotherhood I was given access to the Citadel archives and encouraged to better myself.” Danse raised his shoulders in a way Nate recognised as defensive. “I chose to immerse myself in the literary superiors of the Old World as well as the more appropriate mechanical, electrical and chemical sciences.”

 

“I was always more a Marlowe fan myself, I find The Bard a bit dry.” Deacon shrugged nonchalantly.

 

There was a muttered 'cretin' from Danse that Deacon chose to ignore.

 

Sturges seized the jar of spice and deposited it into a drawer before there could be any protest, a look of victory coming over him. Deacon pouted theatrically, appearing to accept defeat. He had already put some into the pot when Sturges wasn’t looking. The quickness of his hands were not to be underestimated.

 

“Winters peak is approaching, I wondered if once all is settled we had plans. Together.” Danse was stood tall and stiff, Nate knowing that was how he disguised his nervousness. He couldn’t help but smile at the thought that Danse was thinking ahead for them being together. It made something worrying and warm bloom in his chest.

 

“Des kinda frowns on it but the Railroad have our own little traditions.” Deacon grinned, knowing full well he was butting into what should have been a personal moment. Confetti was on the list of contraband after an incident years past. Deacon had never admitted his hand in it, but everyone knew exactly who had set it up.

 

Nate had barely known Gladius the year previously. Christmas was a barely remembered thing in the new world, but a small few made little observances of it. That winter had been spent with the team in Danses quarters, a fond memory now.

 

“We could exchange gifts if you'd like?” Nate cursed to himself at how awful his answer was. He wanted to promise Danse that they would go somewhere nice, or have a day of good food in front of a warm fire. Instead his heart caught in his throat and none of it could be said.

 

“Is there anything Danse could give you that you'd want? Lockjaw maybe?” Deacon tried very hard to keep a straight face.

 

It took Nate several seconds to realise what he meant, first understanding, then a vivid moment of mental imagery, then irritation at Deacon flashing across his features. Danse looked at them both with a raised eyebrow, trying and failing to see the relevance.

 

“Am I missing some Railroad codeword here? Why would giving Nathan lockjaw be considered a good thing? How would I even give him lockjaw safely? A medical procedure? Wait, is a lockjaw a weapon?” Danse watched as Deacon tried to hold his laughter and almost inflated like a balloon, a burst of giggling breaking the silence.

 

Danses expression turned dark, aware he was being mocked but missing exactly how. A lot of the goodwill between them that had formed in the past weeks evaporated quickly.

 

Nate was trying very hard to be very small, hoping the dire colour he had turned was not visible. It was very visible. He caught Sturges eyes, getting a shake of his head and a sigh.

 

The movement sensors at the catacomb entrances beeped in warning, but the heat sensor did not. The second set were finer, movement again and a heat signature far below even ghoul. The third set confirmed it as a single synth, with a small secondary heat source that was not even remotely close to the output of Institute energy weapons.

 

There was a grinding from the hidden entrance. By that point there was an ambush ready for what might have been a single Institute scout.

 

Instead there was a very unamused looking Nick Valentine, cigarette dangling from his lip and a briefcase at his side.

 

“Railroad is a really bad password.” He just deadpanned toward the row of lowering guns.

 

“Good to see you too.” Nate flicked the safety on his weapon and let it hang loose from its strap.

 

“I have a delivery of one list of dissatisfied Brotherhood soldiers, hold the anchovies, for a Nathan R.” Nick drawled as he held up the briefcase like a pizza box, Nate taking it with an amused look. “No tip?”

 

“Its already cold, and where's the garlic bread I ordered?” Nate sniffed haughtily then turned and lead Nick back into the main room. Everyone else present was wondering if it was some old world reference they were missing or if they had both just gone mad.

 

Nate opened the briefcase out on the main table and scattered about the manilla folders, taking a seat and flicking one open.

 

Brandis sat to his right, knowing quietly what the delivery was and what it meant for him.

 

“Anybody care to enlighten me? The mood in here just turned very serious, very fast.” Deacon gestured to it all as Danse took a seat at Nates left side.

 

“I asked Nick to bring me the names of every Brotherhood soldier with an axe to grind. Those that supported both Lyons, the ones that fell foul of Maxson when he rose to power, anyone who voiced doubts...” there was a moment where Nate swallowed nervously. “...anybody who questioned Danses execution, and the ones who wore the mark of mourning despite opposition.”

 

“There’s a movement within the Brotherhood right now, if its isn't defused it might spill into another split or worse a civil war. Elder Maxson is gambling everything on the campaign against the Institute. A solid victory will cement the Chapters loyalty, silence the doubters.” Brandis explained stiffly, Deacon giving him a rather icy look the whole time. Glorys death sat between them, all apologies made not accepted.

 

“And it will ease the pressure the West Coast Chapters and the Council has put on him.” Danse added, remembering the many long nights where he and the Elder had to work out how to outmanoeuvre their many edicts and demands.

 

“So the Paladin here takes a full list of everyone who isn’t wholly loyal back to the Brotherhood with him? That sounds completely safe and not likely to end with a purge. Its lucky there’s so much space free at the airport, where else would they build all the gallows they'll need and dig all those shallow graves?” Deacon stopped when he saw the look Danse now wore. He would eat his own wig before admitting it aloud, but he actually quite liked Danse on the rare occasions he wasn’t uptight and certain of his own lofty superiority.

 

“I've made my decision and proved myself more than enough. Your leader even made me an agent, or does my codename on the board mean nothing?” Brandis pointed to word 'Stalwart' written in chalk with three marks under it.

 

“A name on a board doesn’t make you family.”

 

“Both of you, please stop.” Nate looked to them both, Danse standing up and next to him as support. “I'll say it since both of you won't. This is about Glory.”

 

Deacon and Brandis both flinched.

 

Sturges returned to the pot of food, trying very hard not to hear or think about it. Glory had been there for him after his nature revealed itself, handling all the doubts and questions beyond Nates knowledge.

 

“He murdered her.”

 

“I was just following orders.”

 

“Enough. Both of you. Glory died for the cause, it could have happened a thousand different ways. Brandis has proved himself, we're not going to throw that all away. First the Brotherhood, then the Institute. We put this all behind us and work together, just like she would have wanted.”

 

“You can't know what she would have wanted.” Deacon stood defiant, almost regretting the flash of hurt in Nates eyes.

 

“I knew her well enough.”

 

“Why don’t we ask her?” Without his sunglasses Nate could see it in his eyes, brilliance driven by anger.

 

Nate was about to answer sarcastically when Deacon presented the device, brilliant red dots on its casing sparkling in the light.

 

“Is that?” Nate couldn’t say it, didn’t want to think about it. “We shouldn’t.”

 

Danse stared at it, uncertain if he should be horrified or not, knowing another like it was inside his own skull.

 

“There's enough power to bring her memory back for a few minutes. We've done it before to say goodbye. Des wanted us to do it after this was all over, if she lasts that long.” One of the lights winked out for just a moment, proving his point and giving him cause for concern all at once.

 

"That isn't Glory. Just the backup.” Nate gave Deacon a dire look, a challenge behind it.

 

“It all we got left of her.” He shot Brandis a momentary look.

 

“No. We wake her to tell her we've won, that the synths are free. Nothing less. She can pass on, in peace, knowing her work is done.”

 

Deacon appeared to contemplate this.

 

“I'm with Soldier on this. If it were me; and one day it very well might be, I would want my final minutes to be a release from my duty and purpose, all safe in the knowledge that I did all I could and that those I care for are carrying my mission on without me.” They could all hear it, the 'Ad Victoriam' he bit his tongue to avoid saying aloud.

 

“Well said.” Deacon returned the component to its safe hiding place.

 

Both Nick and Sturges watched what remained of Glory from very different perspectives.

 

There was a sharp beep from Brandis, his collar snapping open and clattering to the floor. Danse put the control device down on the table, Nate patting the pouch on the rear left side of his belt and shooting Danse a rather impressed look when he found it now empty. It was perfectly timed, drawing everyone’s attention swiftly away from the argument. It was a very Railroad way of handling the situation.

 

The collar had thus far been worn as a sign of good faith, a token of trust if only to prove his intentions.

 

“Its time.” Danse made a wide gesture.

 

“Thank you Paladin.” Brandis rubbed his neck, the skin a rubbery texture from wearing it near constantly for so many days.

 

“ We are all counting on you .”  Danse pulled a Brotherhood salute, Nate hastily matching it a moment later.

 

“I will admit I have my doubts, but in the end I owe you both a debt. You saved me nearly a year ago, brought me back my Brothers and Sisters in steel. It would be an honour to help you restore the Brotherhood to its rightful path.”

 

“I'm putting my trust in you brother.” Danses pride faltered. “I hope you don't judge me too harshly for what I am.”

 

Nick rolled his eyes at the two staunch Brotherhood soldiers exchanging formalities.

 

“I've had something of a change of heart being amongst these Railroad types for so long. You're the best Paladin i've ever had the fortune to serve with. I don't know if you are a man or a machine, but I don't think it matters really.” Brandis had read the records liberated from the Institute over the years, finding the situation more complex than he had originally thought. Whether the synths were simply vat grown humans with enhancements or machines made to mimic humanity was very much a matter of interpretation.

 

“That means a lot coming from you.”

 

“I have a favour to ask. A personal one.”

 

“What is it?”

 

Brandis drew in an unsure breath.

 

“I need you to punch me.”

 

“What?” Both of Danses eyebrows raised high.

 

“I can't go back to the Prydwen like this. I need to look like i've been roughed up a bit. Just do it once or twice, enough to give me the look of it.”

 

“Are you certain?”

 

“I'd rather you do it than any of the others.” Brandis was certain Deacon would have done it with a shovel. Deacon was certain he'd do it with a shotgun.

 

Danse put his hand onto Brandis shoulder, partially to steady himself and partially to comfort him for what was about to happen. He balled his hand up into a fist and struck three times, once across his mouth, once across his cheek and the last into his eye.

 

There was a moment as Brandis just gawked, bringing his hand up to his face to try and slow the blood pouring from his nose and his split lip. It pooled in his hand and spilled between his fingers, Danse offering him a handkerchief he had found in the pockets of his borrowed civilian wear. It helped very little.

 

Deacon remained silent, but his smirk was noticeable. Sturges pulled a face and sucked air between his teeth in a show of sympathy, his distaste for blood and fighting in general clear and visible.

 

“Will that do?” Danse had managed to split his knuckle. He sucked on it to slow the bleeding.

 

“Quite enough Paladin.” His eye was already swelling, his tone humorous despite the angry dark red mark blooming across his cheekbone. “I won't thank you for it, you hit like a deathclaw.”

 

“I'll take that as a compliment. Are you doing okay?” Danse started to regret hitting him so hard. He knew it needed to be convincing, but it was looking a little too far.

 

“If I’d known I would have had that Railroad medic dose me up with something first.” The laugh was short as adrenaline started to fade and pain replaced it. “At the barest minimum drink myself horizontal maybe.”

 

“You'll live.” Danse just shook his head.

 

“Sorry to break this up, but I really don't have time stand around watching you have a heart to heart.” Nick folded his arms, shaking his head.

 

“I'm due back at Goodneighbour not too long from now, we should get this planning stuff over soon so we can eat. On that topic, I made more than enough if you want to stay for food.” Sturges looked at the detective, trying to work out if he possessed a stomach.

 

“Generous offer, but I’ll pass.” Nick excused himself with a tip of his hat, leaving them to their work. He had not forgotten his payment was due, he had chosen to collect it after the dust had settled and the funds were not tied up in weapon shipments.

 

Brandis sat at the planning table and flicked open a folder. Nate settled next to him after offering a painkiller, the ones Curie made from treebark that fizzed and foamed in water and tasted like Abraxo.

 

Sturges and Deacon returned to their cooking, and quickly their bickering.

 

Danse once more studied the schematics for the magnetic modification Nate had insisted would be needed, his frustration no less than it had been earlier.

 

Desdemona returned to relative peace. Her immediate response to the state of Brandis face was to accuse Deacon.

 

Nate excused himself for a moment of air, crouching down to give Danse a quick kiss on the cheek as he passed. Danse leaned into it, not once breaking eye contact or concentration with the delicate task he was on. He was glad Danse hadn’t looked up, he was certain he couldn’t hide the guilt over what he was about to set in motion. Not from Danse.

 

Desdemona watched him leave.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

There was a few moments of indecision, the night air chill and biting in the little alley next to the church.

 

He tapped the button on the earpiece, the connection opening a moment later.

 

“I need a private meeting with The Director as soon as possible. I have something that urgently needs discussing.” There was a minute of silence as he was put on hold. He was certain Justin Ayo had been called to figure out if he could be ignored indefinitely. “Tomorrow? Understood.”

 

Nathan disconnected the earpiece and returned it to its sealed container.

 

Across the city a Brotherhood strike team raided another empty safehouse, a team of Coursers were caught out by an ambush and a tide of feral ghouls so heavy they flowed like hissing liquid poured out from the abandoned metro system and crashed against the walls of Diamond City. The Agents responsible would have their reports in Desdemonas hands by midnight and sent out to do it all again. In a few hours Nathan and Deacon were going out on their own task, Nate no longer feeling quite as enthusiastic about it as he should have been. Sturges had provided a prototype of the final bomb, hoping they could test the detonator and report back. A supermutant nest was going to be lit up with a pillar of flame that night, large enough to be seen from Sanctuary.

 

He thought grimly about what he was going to have to do in the coming days, what sacrifices had to be made for the greater good. There would be time later to put things right.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because the first arc was told a bit achronologically the events of Chapters 2, 3, 10 and 18 are next before we move on to 34. There's no real need to go back and reread them, a few cryptic things might make sense and some of Nates plans might be clearer. The next chapter picks up at the tail end of day 19, after Nate has finished with his meeting with Haylen.


	34. Alpha Orange...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A warning ahead: here there be smut, filth, pornographic scribblings, and what I hope is a fairly okay rendition of two men boning after the world has ended. There is also mild allusions to bdsm type play, but nothing actually depicted. You have been warned. 
> 
> If you wish to avoid the particular part for any reason, when you reach "I would advise against the planning table" use the search function to skip to "There was a long moment" and you will be safely beyond it.

Day 19 since the incident at Listening Post Bravo.  
  
  
  


 

Nate had returned from his meeting with Haylen to an empty building. Food had been prepared and waiting for him, sitting lowly simmering in a pot ready to be eaten whenever was appropriate. There was a note duct taped to the spoon sticking out of it, simply signed 'You owe me, D' with an inappropriate number of hearts. Nate had lit candles, tidied up the bedrolls and made certain everything was perfect. There had been a very strong suggestion he do so at the Third Rail, with a knowing nod and a sly wink.

 

Danse returned a few hours later, without a suspiciously absent Deacon. He had quickly noticed the candles and immediately asked if they needed a new core for the generator, reminding Nate instantly that Danse was not one to get subtle hints.

 

With a faint frown furrowed into his brow Nate had thrown himself into Danse's chest and held onto him for a little while. He confirmed that Haylen was on their side for the task ahead. The Paladin was uncertain how to feel about her loyalties.

 

Danse had to take a step back, pushing back Nate harshly. He had pulled him close out of practice, getting a head full of the scent on his clothes. He couldn’t quite remember how he knew it, but it made his stomach turn. It reminded him of Cade's medical bay, but stronger and under pinned with something else.

 

His head spun, a headache blooming to life instantly as the room felt too confined, the shadows cast by candlelight too deep.

 

Nate apologised, stripping off his armour plated jacket and dropping it against the side of the main table, his tshirt and jeans following until he was just in his underwear. He was mildly disappointed that he was stripping down for wholly the wrong reason and entirely not how he had planned it.

 

Danse had sat down on a metal stool, his expression distant and distracted.

 

“Talk to me?” Nate brought his hand up to Danse's cheek, lightly lifting his head up until their gaze met.

 

“There’s something on your clothing, a chemical agent maybe that made me a little light-headed.” Danse looked at the discarded pile of clothes with a scowl.

 

Nate couldn’t recall being exposed to anything, he had been especially vigilant inside the institute to avoid being tagged with tracking or monitoring devices. Tinker Tom had discovered his chameleon armour burnt out Institute technology, the silicone wafers they used as processors were based on organic principles and derived from synth biology. This was further proof that Nate chose to ignore about how dangerous the device was; if it could cause such fatal damage to synthetic neural links it could probably do a lot worse to organic ones.

 

He picked up his clothing, pressing his face to it. All he could smell was the air inside the Institute along with the usual dust and sweat. With a moment of clarity he knew what it was that had caught Danse out.

 

It had happened before some months ago. He had relayed out of the Institute straight into Sanctuary after handling a small delivery for Desdemona. Sturges was the only one awake other than a few guards at the bridge. He bounded up with his usual enthusiasm to greet him, wondering how he got into town without being spotted. He had pulled him close for a hug, the mechanic getting a head full of that sterilised Institute smell. He had immediately stumbled back and slipping onto his rear as all colour drained from his face. Nate could remember as clear as day the look of fear and pain before he dropped into fitful unconsciousness, the panicked call for a medic dragging all of Sanctuary out of bed. A week of trudging between doctors and even smuggling him aboard the Prydwen had found nothing wrong. It was only when they tried unlocking the suspected suppressed memories did the truth come out. Doctor Amari had told them the reason for the fit; scent, behaviour and memory were linked in ways they had yet to come to full understanding of. It was possible to drag memories back up with the right stimuli, the suppressed memories fighting the programmed ones and the conflict forcing the synth into unconsciousness to avoid permanent damage.

 

Danse looked at him like he was mad deliberately breathing in a contaminant, unaware of the moment of recollection.

 

“Nothing.” Nate balled it up and threw it into a pile of clothes resting on his bedroll. He needed a swift distraction from it, explaining that he was inside the Institute was not an option. “Have you eaten today, enough clean water?”

 

“I can look after myself adequately thank you.” Danse had drank a bottle of purified water every three hours whilst out in the field with Deacon, with a quick snack of mut fruit and a Nuka Cherry to keep his sugars up toward the end of the day. He had eaten his remaining ration bar upon returning to Goodneighbour.

 

Nate took his backpack and emptied it out onto the main table searching for something. He handed Danse a strip of pre-war painkillers which he refused with a shake of his head.

 

“I thought Deacon was with you.” Nate asked innocently, quite certain why he wasn’t.

 

“He said he needed to do something at Goodneighbour. I believe he was meeting Desdemona.”

 

Nate scowled, shooting a look at the mission board just to be sure. Nothing had changed on it since he had left, no reason for the Railroad leadership to be away from HQ so close to the day of the march. He strolled up to it, taking the chalk and scratching off two of the tasks.

 

A smile filtered into his features now that he was certain they were going to be alone for at least a little while longer.

 

“Care to share the joke?” Danse saw the smile, wondering just what was behind it.

 

Nate just shook his head, a contented sigh escaping.

 

“We have HQ to ourselves for a few hours. Thought you might want to do something fun with the time?” There was a wiggling of eyebrows that Danse found wholly, deliciously inappropriate and terribly endearing.

 

“I cannot imagine what you mean.” Danse smiled back at him, slipping his hands around his waist and hoisting him up and onto the table. Nate let out a surprised gasp, his bearings returning to him. He wrapped his legs around Danse's hips and pulled him in, meeting his lips for the slightest teasing moment before pulling back with an impetuous grin.

 

“I'm certain...” He gave Danse another peck of a kiss. “...you'll figure...” Another kiss. “...it out.” the last kiss stayed because Danse's wide hand had pulled his head in and wasn’t going to yield.

 

Nate took to the kiss with enthusiasm, Danse could feel the wide grin against his mouth.

 

“You good for this?” Danse lifted his hands off for a moment, waiting for that last scrap of permission.

 

“Yeah.” Nate breathed in, his lungs starved for air. “I think first we could both do with a shower.”

 

“I can agree to that.” Danse scooped him up in a bridal carry, Nate folding his arms over his chest and putting on a show of being indignant as he was carried down into the shooting range where the shower had been set up.

 

The tank was recently filled, a fusion cell wired to the heating coil and ready to warm the water. All conveniently ready for them. Nate had already used about a third himself earlier.

 

Danse let Nate carefully down, pulling his own tshirt over his head and unbuttoning his jeans. Nate pulled his own underwear down and stepped out of it, turning the dial for the hot water and stepping under the spray.

 

Danse followed him under a few moments later, coming up behind him and wrapping his arms around him. He rested his stubbly chin in the crook of his neck, rubbing it just enough that Nate wriggled free in response trying not to let on how ticklish it made him..

 

The water was a little hotter than he would have liked, Danse was too adjusted to the Prydwen's less than reliable system that drew from the ballast tanks. They had a cut-off that stopped all running water aboard if buoyancy against stability was ever compromised. That measure had been put in place when a certain Knight pointed out the Prydwen could be crippled simply by running every faucet aboard for a few minutes.

 

Nate just leaned back against him, closing his eyes as he enjoyed the water and the company. Danse was gently rubbing up and down his chest with one hand, the other resting against his hip. Nate lifted his moving hand, putting a sponge in it and letting him resume his movement.

 

The Paladin snorted against his neck, he didn’t need to see the smug grin to know it was there. His soldier responded by grinding back against him. He retaliated by sinking his teeth into the soft junction between shoulder and neck, Nate going instantly weak at the knees and having to lean against him.

 

Something was muttered back to him, the words half formed and lost under a gasp.

 

“I'm sorry, I didn’t quite catch that, Soldier.”

 

“I said you're a bastard. Sir.” Nate spun around on the spot, the water against his back now. He ran his tongue from collarbone to jaw following the artery, Danse shivering in response.

 

“Calling your commanding officer a bastard? I'm certain that’s a punishable offence.” Danse tried to keep a serious face, the blush that crept in ruining it. Nate just looked up with a challenge in his expression, the warmth of it cracking Danse's acting and making him bow his head in embarrassment as his cheeks and ears turned a deep scarlet. A laugh bubbled up in Nate's throat, Danse nervously letting himself laugh too.

 

Danse closed his eyes, wrapping his arms around his soldier. Nate leaned against him, forehead resting against his Paladins wide collarbone.

 

“I love you, you know that right?” Nate breathed in, rubbing his cheek affectionately against Danse.

 

“How could I ever forget it?”

 

“Deacons was right, we're way too mushy. I thought we were going to ruin the planning table, not share hugs and feelings.” Nate mumbled against Danse's chest.

 

“I would advise against the planning table as a location for this tryst. I would never be able to look Desdemona in the eye again knowing what i'd done on her workspace.”

 

“Pity. I had this lovely image in my head of you sprawled across it, naked. I'd climb up, scattering all the paperwork and ride you until you were begging my name.” Danse actually swallowed nervously, feeling the shark like expression Nate wore against his skin. Nate had felt the bobbing of his adams apple against the top of his head, his grin splitting a little wider at it.

 

“You're certainly very forward about this.” Danse had to keep his voice from cracking. Nate had turned up to face him and was nipping and kissing at his throat insistently.

 

“I have a very handsome Paladin at my disposal, can I be blamed for fantasizing?”

 

“I suppose not.”

 

“Lets finish up in here, we'll need to leave a bit of water for cleaning up again later.” Nate took the sponge out of Danse's hand and made a show of scrubbing him clean. Danse kept his hands by his sides, every ounce of willpower keeping him from picking his Knight up by the hips and slamming him down on the nearest surface. He always worried about hurting Nate and had told him as much. Nate had requested that if he was ever injured during sex that Danse should 'finish me off before you rush for the stimpaks'; a suggestion that had left Danse feeling a little horrified.

 

Nate ran his hands through Danse's hair, the texture coarse and damaged from the dust and sweat inside his helmet. He filled the sponge with water and brought it up to his hair, wringing it out. Danse sighed, stooping down to let him massage his fingers through the damp mess of knots and damage. He found it incredibly relaxing, a nice reprieve from the burning desire of only moments ago. Danse was nearly purring under his touch. He often lamented the lack of conditioner in this new world, Curie's attempts at synthesizing a close alternative had yet to yield results.

 

They finished their shower, Danse wrapping a towel around his waist and padding across the room, past Nates power armour standing guard at the main table where it had acquired a feather boa and an apron from who knew quite where, and drying himself swiftly and efficiently next to the bedrolls. Nate just stood, watching enraptured and dripping all over the floor as his hair sat slick against his forehead. He was not wearing a towel, leaning against a cabinet and leaving a wet print of his back on it.

 

Danse threw his towel at him, the command to 'hurry up' coming out with more of his officers persona than he had intended. Nate did not mind the order in the slightest.

 

He settled on the bedroll, facing the ceiling with legs spread trying very hard to not think how naked and exposed he was. That ever present desire to return to his armour gnawed at the back of his mind. He could not be certain if that would actually be enough to deter Nate, some small part certain the power armour would only entice him more. The very Deacon like thought of the two of them doing the deed in full armour streaked across his thoughts wholly uninvited, the sound like two industrial washing machines in a tornado.

 

Nate knelt between his legs, wondering just what brought on the single, silent laugh he saw.

 

“Do we have any oil or slicking substance to spare?” Danse asked as he wholly dismissed the image, Nate motioning to a small glass bottle within reaching distance, a small portion of it used recently. He reached out, no sooner had he gotten his fingers around it they reflexively tightened, the glass creaking alarmingly as Nate had taken the initiative and was now enthusiastically bobbing up and down between Danses legs.

 

Danse bit back a noise, threading his fingers into Nates hair in an effort to slow his pace. He got a look of warning and a very deliberate but very slight scrape of teeth along the now very sensitive head, a moments kiss of apology following before he went straight back to work undeterred.

 

There was snort of frustration from the Paladin, the urge to thrust fighting against his will. Nate must have sensed this and chosen to disregard it, swallowing all the way to the root and pulling back slowly in a way he knew was pleasurable torture for his poor pent up Paladin.

 

The glass still in his hand crunched alarmingly, spiderweb patterns spiralling harmlessly down the stem. Nate took this as a sign. He knew not to push too far, as much as he enjoyed how coiled tight Danse was there was a limit where it went from pleasurable to the kind of cruelty that they had certainly not properly negotiated. He did hope to one day see if he could tease Danse to the edge and find out if his pride would let him whimper and beg for release, 'soldier' whispered reverently like a prayer. The idea of Danse returning the favour, especially with what he had been recently informed about the Paladin having 'adequate certification in rope and binding work' sent a dark, electric shiver through his whole body.

 

He slowed gradually, letting his tongue do the work until he came to a complete stop. Danse passed him the bottle, the scent flowery and bitter as it was uncorked. Nate poured it quite liberally, Danse jolting at the chill as it flowed down. It warmed to the touch as Nate spread it around, adding a few drops more for good measure before climbing up over him and straddling him.

 

“Certain about this?” Danse held him up by his hips, wanting one last time to be sure.

 

Nate gave him a very pointed look, snorted in frustration, nodded his affirmative and rather hastily let gravity pull him down.

 

There was no regret to his rash choice, but something close definitely surged through him when he realised he had either underestimated some of Danses rather generous dimensions, or vastly overestimated how well he had prepared himself a few hours before.

 

Nate just made an undignified noise, not quite a whimper and not quite a needy whine.

 

“Are you alright Soldier?” Danse had watched him freeze in place like a terrified radstag with great concern.

 

Nate just swallowed heavily, scrunched his eyes shut and nodded again.

 

“Use your words, I want to hear your affirmative.”

 

“I am okay.” Nate gently lifted himself a little and eased back down, the small shiver that rose up Danse and the visible hitch in his breathing beautiful to feel.

 

“Am I hurting you?” Danse propped himself up on his elbows, the slight shift in his angle made Nate stiffen again.

 

“Its fine.” There was a very bright blush across his face that grew a deeper scarlet as he tried to speak it, his jaw moving but embarrassment holding his tongue on the first attempt. He licked his lips and managed to say it quite coyly, not making eye contact. “You are quite big.”

 

“Take it at your own pace.” He paused slightly, frowning. Deacons mocking had him paranoidly checking every sentence for double entandres and innuendo. “Not it, that, I mean, you know what I mean. We can do this however you want to, if this is uncomfortable for any reason we can stop.”

 

“I want this.”

 

With great care Danse lifted him up, shifting until he was sitting upright with Nate on his lap and was very much still inside him. Nate hooked his legs around Danses waist, pulling them a little closer together and a little deeper.

 

Nate took a gulp of air, his pupils pinpricks and an almost vacant expression plain to see behind the stupid smile. That last inch or so had brought a warm, fresh, almost biting sensation that arced up his spine, and was not entirely unpleasant.

 

Danse didn’t move, content to let the feeling of being so close and so intimately connected settle.

 

He was surprised when Nate took hold of his hand, almost reverently, and gently trailed it up his chest. He had expected entirely the other direction.

 

Danse realised his meaning when Nate brought his hand, his fingers over Danses, up to his throat and grasped just enough to make it understood. There was something sharp and dangerous behind his eyes. Trust.

 

Nate was naked, unarmed, and had chosen to place Danses hand around his vulnerable throat without showing an ounce of fear.

 

Danse just smiled knowingly, threaded his hand around and into the hair on the back of his head and pulled him in for simple kiss.

 

He bucked up inward, deeper, slow enough to stop in a heartbeat and just quick enough that he could feel every faint quiver and the tension pulling taut through his soldier. He could taste against his lips and now against his chest the way his breath caught and his heart thundered.

 

“I love you, you know that right?” Was what Nate whispered in the brief moment before Danse took his lips again, this time a little more urgent. It was prickly with stubble at its edges but soft and caring where it mattered. It was noticed that Danse still hadn’t done anything to fix the chapped texture from wind burn despite Curie proving salves.

 

“How could I forget?” Danse just smiled, pressing forehead to forehead.

 

Nate seemed distant, eyes barely open. Danse stopped his movements to ask him if all was well, a sharp look answering before he could even speak.

 

Danse gently pushed him back, opening enough space between them that he could still thrust in with ease. He moved a hand down Nates chest, along the soft inner thigh teasingly and gripped him carefully with the most featherlight of touches. He massaged the head with the pad of his thumb, gently letting his grip rise and fall in time with his breathing.

 

When he finally starting moving in and out again in time with his hand Nate was practically growling with pent up energy. Danse wanted to make it last, but strongly suspected Nate was more than eager to spill.

 

He become so enraptured in the rhythm of it all; the careful balance of timing between his hand around Nate and the bucking of his hips into him, whilst not letting himself finish too soon, that he missed whatever Nate had said. He strongly suspected it was a warning as moments later he felt the tremor and the way his whole body seemed to clamp down around him, Danse now decorated with a trio of silvery white lines running up his torso and matting into his chest hair. Nate was biting his lip and looking very sheepish about it, the image of Danse marked like that burned into his mind.

 

He took that as his signal to let go, his hips bucking and slamming a little more recklessly. He pulled them close, hands kneading into his back hard enough to leave interesting bruises. Nate quite liked the way his face scrunched and his jaw clamped shut as he orgasmed, almost as much as he liked the slightly stinging warmth now filling him. Danse kept a slow pace as he rode it out, his breathing laboured as he let himself fall back against the blankets, Nate falling on top of him in a sweat soaked tangle.

 

Danse gently pulled free once he was in command of his senses, Nate hissing at the sudden cold of the air as he rolled to his side and stared vacantly at the ceiling.

 

There was a long moment as they both adjusted to the how loud the silence of Railroad HQ could be.

 

“That was...” Danse swallowed a little nervously “...that was better than any training exercise.”

 

“Yeah.” Nate leaned just a little into him. “I was honestly expecting you to yell Ad Victoriam when you finished. Not certain if I should be disappointed you didn’t.”

 

“Apologies. I'll try harder next time.” Danse shot him a sly look.

 

“Everything about that was perfect. You're perfect.” He couldn’t quite be certain if Nate was being sincere or trying to flatter him. He found it quite ironic that Nate was trying to stroke his ego when he had been the one stroking Nates _ego_ only a bare few minutes before.

 

“I thought you were trying to be 'less mushy' about this, in your own words.”

 

“I'm being serious. I want this to last between us, and most of all I want you to be happy. I don't just want this, the sex I mean, even if its pretty good and i wouldn't say no to more of it, I want...” There was a crackle of static from his discarded Pipboy followed by a stark beeping.

 

“I understand what you are trying to say.” Danse said it, but Nate seemed to not hear him.

 

Nate scrambled for the shelf, irritated at what he saw. There was a single message flashing up on the screen. He dismissed it before Danse saw what it had said.

 

“Responsibility always comes calling.” He looked defeated at having to untangle himself from his comfortable position. A hand came to rest on Danse's bare hip, a light caress lasted only a moment before he used Danse as a support for hoisting himself up.

 

He pulled on his clothes and pouches, grabbing a rifle from the shelf and a pocket full of ammo.

 

“I shouldn’t be very long. An hour at most.”

 

“Be safe Soldier.”

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are two awful things about writing m/m smut:  
> The first is the amount of times you have to alternate between using he/him and their names to avoiding getting them mixed up and attributing ones actions or reactions to the other. I envy the heterosexuals with their easily distinguished pronouns.  
> The other is that there is no nice way to say dick, it always looks so weird and wrong on the page. Its gets worse when you try to use euphemisms.


	35. ...One, One, Three.

Day 19 since the incident at listening post bravo.

 

 

 

 

Lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling with just his thoughts was not how he imagined the rest of the night going. It had occurred to him that Nate had left without a shower, and worse still he had _fluids_ present on his body that he had just thrown clothes over. It sent a disgusted shiver down his body to even contemplate. His Knight was going to be thrown under the shower the moment his feet touched the threshold of HQ. He had showered himself already, quickly and efficiently so to leave plenty of water for the others. Fresh clothes felt good on drying skin, it made him feel human again.

 

The first movement sensor going off had him up and on his feet. By the second set confirming a human temperature range he was strapping a stealthboy to his power armour and climbing in. When the password plate was grinding noisily he was getting into a low crouch, the device burning hot enough to sear its own edges and struggling to keep him hidden. He had flicked the lights off, reloaded the power cell in his weapon and simply waited.

 

The wall slid back, a hooded figure taking a tentative step in.

 

“Have you seen the twin lamps?” Danse asked for the passcode, even in the low light seeing them try to find the source of the voice.

 

“Erm...” The voice was familiar. “They light the path to freedom?” Danse lowered his gun.

 

“You're not supposed to be here.” Danse looked down at the other synth, walking past him and hitting the motor control to close the secret entrance and tapping the control switch on the stealthboy.

 

The field crackled as it collapsed, some of the internal systems in his armour registering a few anomalies quickly ignored.

 

“I was bringing something to the General.” Sturges patted the satchel at his side as he lowered his scarf, his hood and put his goggles back around his neck. “Just a few things he requested, a bit late but better late than never. Is he here?”

 

“I wasn’t aware we had any equipment outstanding.” Danse had been in charge of requisition and assignment, helping to arm Hancocks militia and the Minutemen adequately. They had the location of the Institute, once the Brotherhood was swayed to their side they already had an army mobilised to deal with it.

 

“Its nothing important really.” Sturges smiled a little to slow, his stance shifting to a defensive one. Danse watched this carefully. He could read the nervousness, It was a good talent to practice and it paid off more than once to know when a 'civilian' asking for help was actually a raider luring them into an ambush.

 

“Tell me.” He stood tall, carefully raising his weapon from a lax position to a readied one, not pointed but the threat of it there and clear.

 

“I can't, I promised Nate.” Sturges knew instantly that those were the wrong words, he had just admitted he was hiding something and Nate was involved.

 

“I consider you somebody I would like to be on friendly terms with. Nathan has obviously classified the information for some reason. I would have thought he trusted me.”

 

“He does. Its just...” Sturges bit his tongue to stop himself saying any more.

 

“I'll ask him myself when he returns. Hand over whatever it is and I will make certain he gets it.” Danse raised his arm expectantly, tapping the index finger on his other hand over the hard plastic shell of his rifle loudly. Sturges was keeping remarkably calm in such a volatile situation for someone who was noted to be a pacifist by nature. He had never encountered anyone like that in his time with the Brotherhood.

 

Sturges handed it over reluctantly.

 

“I'm really sorry, but don’t be angry with the General. They're only doing what they think is right.” The mechanic put his hood back up and turned to leave. “I'll be at Goodneighbour with the rest of 'em if I’m needed.”

 

“Duly noted.” Danse had already opened the satchel.

 

Sturges left at speed, Danse taking the satchel through to the main room and emptied out its contents. He ejected from his armour, leaving it stood side by side with Nates.

 

There was two sets of instructions. The second were of interest.

 

The calculations were years, even decades of study above Nates skill, but his annotations were simple and damning as evidence. Danse knew the approximate hull stresses of the Prydwen, recognising the forces that would be required to crack the ship open.

 

In one hand he held the plans, in another he held one of the bombs meant to destroy the Brotherhood.

 

He sat for too long just staring at it, turning it over repeatedly as if any justifiable reason for them to exist was printed somewhere on their casing just waiting to be found. None was forthcoming.

 

Soon he found himself too warm, too confined.

 

He didn’t even remember walking up through the tunnels, just that his feet found the way there.

 

He intended to wait there and confront Nathan when he returned. He had left Righteous Authority below knowing he could not trust his trigger finger nor his self control at present.

 

His chest felt tight and there was a dull throb in his skull. The urge to find somewhere isolated and just sleep until it was all forgotten was making itself known. He direly needed his armour. He almost went back for it when two sharp cracks drew his attention, moments apart.

 

He knew instantly the sound of an inbound relay. He braced for hostiles, determining the direction the sound had come from. It was not particularly loud, but it was close enough to be heard.

 

What sounded like a fairly civil but heated argument bounced down the walls of the alleyway, the words too far to make out. He edged closer to the corner of the building, hearing two distinct voices going back and forth.

 

“...a considerable amount of resources. If this plan of yours doesn’t go exactly as you have promised it places the Institute in a vulnerable position.” Danse leaned out around the corner and ducked back again. He caught sight of Nate casually leaning against the outer wall of the church, the two people he was conversing with were in the black heavy coats usually worn by Coursers.

 

“And if we do nothing the Institute will be under siege by weeks end. The only defence you have is how well hidden the facility is. That will be gone very soon. We have to strike whilst they are preparing.” He could hear the smug grin Nate was wearing from just his voice.

 

“Even investing the sum total of our ground forces to the attack the outcome is weighted in their favour.”

 

“I already have a plan to fix that, but I require resources only the Director is able to grant me. The Railroad will bear the brunt of the risk, myself included. I wouldn't ask for such an investment if I didn’t think I could deliver.” Nate idly handed something over to the silent one of the Coursers.

 

“There are doubts amongst the Directorate.”

 

There was a faint hiss of pressure releasing, the glowing blue bottle handed back.

 

“But not the Director I would guess. Is it all of the Directorate or just Ayo?”

 

“I am not at liberty to discuss internal politics.”

 

“Yes you are. The fact you're saying that just confirms it. Ayo is trying to block this.” Nate took a sip, slouching against the wall and looking quite in comfort amongst Institute operatives.

 

“There are doubts to your loyalties.”

 

“I know you're recording my every word so Ayo can scrutinise it later, so I’ll make it clear. I've only ever wanted what is best for the Commonwealth. The Railroad are too short sighted, the Brotherhood are self righteous zealots and the Minutemen are a disorganised rabble even with my help. My choices are a petty tyrant, utter chaos or a failing bureaucracy. The Director was right all along and its taken me this long to realise it. And for the record Ayo, you can go fuck yourself.”

 

“We need more than just assurances.” The taller of the two synths made brief eye contact with his still silent partner. The other one looked familiar to Danse, the sunglasses and facial features even at a distance were sparking a memory. He had been observing the argument, taking neither side.

 

“I came prepared.” Nate held out a holodisk that was swiftly snatched from his grasp. “That contains my command codes and cyphers as well as those of Paladin Brandis and Paladin Danse. Three should be enough to work out how the Brotherhood encrypts their transmissions. The ability to listen to their private communications should be adequate proof of loyalty.” He sounded to Danse like he was nearly laughing.

 

“Betraying the Brotherhood still profits the Railroad. This could be a trick, playing their two enemies off against each other.” He didn’t need to see to know Nate was stifling a sarcastic laugh at them accusing him of that after they had been doing the exact same thing.

 

“I chose this location for a reason. This building here is Railroad HQ. After the trap is sprung any survivors will try to return here. Have an ambush ready and you’ll catch any remaining Railroad agents.”

 

“If this is true we could attack now and remove their threat entirely.”

 

“And in doing so prevent my plan from going forward. I'm delivering the total destruction of the Brotherhood, Railroad and Minutemen in a single action. If you attack now you'll maybe get some of the Railroad leadership.”

 

There was a deliberate cough to draw their attention.

 

“Father has already given his backing to you. Our resources are yours to command, within reason and with oversight from the Directorate. He sees the tactical merit of catching all three groups of interest off guard in a single action.” The one who had remained silent finally spoke. He handed over something, Nate turning it over twice and reading the label.

 

“Oh X6 you always bring me the best news.”

 

With a designation Danse finally recognised them. He had last seen them dressed in starched white, waiting at the Relay arrival point inside the Institute. It was the bodyguard Nate had been given by the Institute.

 

“We have what we came for, we'll return to the Institute.”

 

“I need X6 for a few hours, relay back without him.” His tone made it clear he wasn’t going to accept any arguments.

 

There was a moment of silence where Danse could almost hear his own heartbeat.

 

“Understood. X7-54 requesting a return relay.” A thunder-crack later and it was just Nate and his bodyguard.

 

“Was I right?” Nate's voice lost its harsh, mocking edge quickly. He lifted the glass bottle, clutching it over his heart.

 

“Yes.”

 

“How long?” His tone was one Danse couldn’t quite place.

 

There was a pause, as if X6 was weighing in whether to tell him or not.

 

“Fifteen days.”

 

“Not what I was hoping to hear. Do you have an answer yet?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Was that yes to having considered it or yes you'll do it?”

 

“What are my orders?” The Courser sounded like he was reaching the end of his patience, a slight shift in his voice just noticeable.

 

“You'll play a part in the attack on the Brotherhood, I already put you forward for it in my last communication to the Director. You'll be moving in just before the trap is sprung. In the meantime I need you to do what you do best.” Nate handed over a handwritten list of names and locations that the Courser scrutinised.

 

“Targets?”

 

“Its not about the killing, we need it to look like the Brotherhood did it. We need to send a message on their behalf.”

 

“Understood.”

 

Danse ducked back into cover, moving swiftly back inside when he heard no more forthcoming.

 

There was another thundercrack of relay and a long exhale from Nathan.

 

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

 

Nate strolled into HQ, radio'ing his arrival in to Danse ahead. The response he got back was short and military, he had thought it no different that his usual radio manner at the time.

 

Danse was sat at the main table watching him enter.

 

The smile he flashed was matched with a set jaw and indifference, throwing him instantly.

 

“Something happen while I was away?” Nate didn’t like that look. It was the quiet, disappointed anger he had only seen once before.

 

“Sturges was here. He dropped this off.” The former Paladin held up a bomb that Nate recognised from the plans he had left behind in Sanctuary.

 

“Oh.” There was a heartbeats worth of silence. “So you know?”

 

“That you lied to me? That you intend to attack the Brotherhood? And worst of all you used me to accomplish this, turned me against my Brothers and Sisters in Steel.” His fist was clenched, his tone not betraying exactly how he felt. “You have tainted not only my legacy but that of Paladin Brandis with this madness.”

 

“You don’t have the whole plan. Maxson won't surrender unless we can completely disarm him, the Prydwen has to go. Its a warship, how are we supposed to negotiate when he has that against us?”

 

Danse watched him be perfectly convincing, his conviction and sincerity would have been believable if he didn’t know the truth.

 

“Do you really think he'll respond well to destroying the Prydwen?” Danse carefully chose his words. Nate didn’t suspect he had been discovered as an Institute double agent.

 

“I don't know. What choice do we really have left at this point? The Brotherhood has already gone too far. Even if we can't get them to negotiate we will have at least broken their ability to do harm. I don't want to have to do this.” Nate let his anger rule him, not backing down to Danse's challenge.

 

“I can't allow it.”

 

“You can't stop it.”

 

“I can go to Elder Maxson and warn him.” Danse was stood now, looming over him.

 

Nate froze, eyes going wide.

 

“You'll be killed.” It was said through clenched teeth, the look he wore heartbroken and enraged. “And you'll be putting everyone else's lives at risk.”

 

“I was willing to die for the Brotherhood once, I’ll do it again.” The anger fled under the look Danse gave him. That same acceptance of the oncoming end. “They won't get anything but the warning from me, I promise you that much. No names, no risk. You can all just walk away from this alive.”

 

“I won't let you throw your life away for this.” Nate knew well enough that if they even suspected Danse knew more they would torture him for it.

 

“The only way you can stop me is to kill me, so either draw your weapon or let me go.” He raised Righteous Authority in warning.

 

Nate took his pistol from its holster and tossed it aside.

 

“I won't kill you.”

 

“Then get out of my way.” Danse put his hand to Nate's chest and pushed him aside with no resistance.

 

“Why won't you trust me on this?”

 

He raised his weapon, taking a steadying breath.

 

“I know everything you just said to me was a lie. I overheard your conversation with the Coursers.” He watched as the sadness melted away and was replaced with the kind of calm that came with certainty and purpose. “I've compromised the ideals I’ve lived for over and over again because I trusted you to make everything right in the end. But you were selling us all out to the Institute, you need to be stopped before you can ruin even more lives.”

 

“I love you Danse.” Nathan said it quietly, finger dancing on the dial of his pipboy as fast as he could muster.

 

“I know.”

 

“Are you going to kill me?”

 

“No. If you have any sense I suggest you get out of the Commonwealth, what we had is worth giving you that chance.” Danse turned to leave.

 

“Am I a good person?”

 

“I don’t know anymore.” Danse turned back briefly.

 

“That makes this a lot easier I suppose.” Nate took a steadying breath, looking down at the screen. “M7-97 override code. Alpha, orange, one, one, three.”

 

He held his breath. Either the code worked and Danse was no longer there or it hadn’t and Danse would know exactly what he had tried to do.

 

The clattered of his energy weapon hitting the floor was all the confirmation he needed.

 

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

 

Danse looked up from the table where he'd been idly working on Righteous Authority, trying to work out where the dent in the casing had come from. The damage was so fresh the paintwork hadn’t even chipped away yet.

 

The door opened, Danse startling slightly and checking all the warning sensors. He had not heard the turning of the password plate either. He would berate himself later, grabbing his weapon and pressing himself against one of the pillars ready to ambush whoever had infiltrated Old Church. He really hoped it was just Deacon.

 

Nate entered the room, scanned it wondering where Danse was, and found himself staring down the emitter end of Righteous Authority as the Paladin had rolled out of cover and aimed for his chest. He froze in place, Danse wondering why his training hadn't kicked in as he lowered his weapon and shot him a relieved smile.

 

“You caught me off guard.” He stood, brushing the dust from his clothing and tried very hard not to be embarrassed about what had turned out to be an overreaction.

 

Nate finally unfroze, his jaw moving as if he was trying to saw something an no words coming out.

 

Concern took reliefs place when he saw the state of Nate. His eyes were red raw, darkened by exhaustion; physical and emotional.

 

Nate shrugged out of his backpack carelessly, letting it fall. He walked up to Danse, his expression unreadable, before pulling him into a tight hold and burying his head into his chest.

 

“Are you alright Soldier?” The genuine care seemed to make Nate grip that much tighter.

 

“You know I love you right?” Nate took a ragged breath in through his nose.

 

“Of course I do. Is something wrong?” The Paladin gently put his hands upon his shoulders, pushing him back to get a proper look at his face. He thought for a moment that somebody had died.

 

“Am I a good person?”

 

“I would like to think so, yes.” The gentle honesty of Danse's expression twisted up inside Nate. “Please tell me what's wrong.”

 

“Its nothing important. Just mission stuff. I had to make a difficult choice, for the future. I'm tired, would you come to bed?” He put on a smile, Danse seeing straight through it.

 

Danse just nodded. He trusted that whatever it was would be told to him when the time was right.

 

He didn’t like this strange turn of mood. Barely an hour before he had been sly and cheeky, full of lecherous grins and innuendo. Now all he could see was fear.

 

They crawled in amongst the pillows and blankets, Nate falling into a shallow, fitful sleep. Danse just held onto him until he was resting, worried deeply. He had shifted back until he was resting flush against the Paladin, holding onto the arm draped over him.

 

There had been something important he was supposed to talk to Nate about, slipped from his mind by the commotion. He just had this sense of urgency he couldn’t place.

 

He could recall letting himself rest a little earlier, but not when he he had gotten up to work on his damaged laser rifle. He only fell properly asleep when Deacon returned with Desdemona and Carrington, their arrival radio'd in properly. Desdemona had come to check on them both and had assured Danse it was fine for him to sleep, the usual patrols and lookouts had all returned with them.

 

He slept lightly, startling awake in the dead of night from a nightmare. The image faded until all that remained was the feeling of Righteous Authority against his trigger finger and of Nate staring blankly through him. He tried to shake it from his thoughts but something about it just wouldn’t quite leave him.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally the second part of the previous chapter, but I decided to split it off because it came to 8000 words before cleanup and that was perhaps a little too long. I wanted to keep the chapter title so I split it up between them. I did hope somebody would realise what the odd chapter title meant, I definitely mentioned Danses override code had Orange in it previously.
> 
> "Secrets will get you nowhere in the end. They take everything from you, bit by bit until you've only got your life left to give." - Glory
> 
> There was something in the last look she gave Nate that pierced through the fog and starkly reminded him of that discussion they had on the cost of secrets. - Glory again
> 
> Secrets within secrets were the way they all lived, but it had a way of ending badly. -Desdemona
> 
> Glory was always the voice of reason in their little trio between Nate, Deacon and herself. If she had still been around she would have probably knocked Nate on his backside and had him bring Danse into the loop rather than letting things get this far.
> 
> I will say I'm not totally happy with this part, I went through it four or five times and was still left unsatisfied with it. This is another chapter I'll come back to once this whole story is done for another round of edits and cleanup. There's about 15000 words left spread over the last two days until the end of the main story, and a few loose end tie up chapters to round it out afterwards.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has commented or left kudos, and I sincerely hope this chapter hasn't left anybody feeling too down.


	36. Girl Scouts Honour

Day 20 since the incident at Listening Post Bravo

 

 

 

 

 

Nate very carefully projected an air of confidence and calm as he walked into the airport, hoping nobody would get close enough to notice the briny smell of seawater clinging to his armour. If he had known the gate guards would instead focus instantly on Deacon he wouldn’t have bothered. The Citadel markings had them on edge quickly.

 

Brandis was on the gate, recognising the markings on Deacons shoulder plate as his own handiwork. He only raised an eyebrow at it, waving them through and taking the log book off one of the Knights, making it look like he was recording their names. His assignment to gate duty was unusual, and now he strongly suspected someone had gotten into the duty rotations and made a few key changes. Gate duty irritated him, the Knights under his command being restless and bored with standing around irritated him, and somehow he knew that Deacon could see that frustration and was enjoying it immensely.

 

Deacon saluted him, getting a very irritated one in return.

 

He waved them through and ordered his team to do a sweep of the area around the outside of the checkpoint 'because they needed the exercise'. The brief nod from Nathan suggested the distraction was exactly what he was there to do.

 

Nate and Deacon had bypassed the Brotherhoods entire lockdown by walking along the bottom of the bay. Nate had discovered that there was indeed a hell, and it was Deacon singing '1000 bottle of nuka on the wall' on the short range radio frequency the entire walk there. He had made it to 245 bottle remaining when they finally crested land, Nates frustrated scream when he got his helmet off setting a nearby patrol searching the racetrack for ferals.

 

They climbed the steps to Liberty Primes control and diagnostics, Nate scanning it for a very specific input. Deacon stood guard, his armour perfectly still except for the most minute shift of his helmet when he looked from the gate into the airport itself and the rows of barrack built on the old runway. If the alarm went off for any reason there was potentially hundreds of Brotherhood Knights within barely onehundred paces of them.

 

Nate had to wonder if maybe their lives had been different if Deacon would make a good Knight. He could certainly project the right mixture of authority, immovability and intimidation that seemed to come with the territory. He was certain Deacon in the role he was playing would make a fine Knight Rhys. Better even, if Nate was being honest with himself.

 

He could almost see Deacon as part of Gladius, Danse standing proud with a four man team beneath him instead of three. He shook the thought out and kept it away, thinking about Danse just reminded him of how little time there was left.

 

He found the panel he was looking for as his patience began to fray at the edged. The material was scratched and aged, salvaged rather than freshly fabricated. The circle crossed with three lines of the Vault-Tec logo was stamped into the corner of the metal, exactly what he was expecting. He starting checking the switches around it for the one that would prime the input. He gave what he hoped was the right one a sharp tap, clanging harshly against his armour plated fingers.

 

His attitude had not gone unnoticed. He had awoken early enough that even the Paladin thought something terribly wrong with him and was out without an explanation for most of the morning. He had been spotted at Goodneigbour too many hours later, searching out Sturges for a short, private conversation before returning to HQ.

 

Nobody would have been happy to know that Nate only had a handful of words for Sturges. The important ones were 'Gamma, Ochre, Five, Seven, Two' and 'amend memory' amongst others. He had to cut another dangerous deal to get those codes, but it was worth it to reduce the risk of leaving Sturges with his memories of telling Danse too much intact.

 

Deacon had found it very strange that Desdemona was getting reports on Nates movements, made worse by the fact he didn’t know why. Something prickled at the back of his mind, the warning that something was amiss and he should make himself scarce before whatever it was came to bite them.

 

Nate had only reappeared moments before he was due to go out on one of the last remaining missions with Deacon. Danse had noted he had a habit of barely making it on time to missions when not actively pursued to do so, a trait that carried over between his life in the Brotherhood and his life in the Railroad. Too many times he had tipped Nate out of his bunk in the barracks.

 

They had all sat around the main table at breakfast questioning it over tea, the latest delivery of Codsworths scones and the usual back and forth dance of trades and bargains. Danse told them about Nathans strange behaviour the night prior while waving one of the agents offering Nuka Cherry down and making the gesture for halving it with him without once dropping the conversation. He smoothly slid a snack cake across for his trade, passing a quarter loaf of bread for someone else’s trade around the table. By the end of it he had a half glass of Nuka Cherry, some cold cuts of meat, and wedge of cheese and a half bowl of some kind of soup he knew one of the heavies made when they needed to calm their nerves for a coming mission. At no point did he realise that he had performed this strange Railroad ritual without Nathan. Deacon had haggled badly and failed to acquire some of that soup for himself, a sour start to the morning for him. Desdemona had suggested they not pry.

 

Deacon still hadn’t made that feeling he was in danger quite go away.

 

Nate took the plug out the side of his pipboy and plugged into the interface terminal. With a twist of the control dial he executed the program, the screen blinking off and back on again. It was running through lines of commands, the Brotherhood terminal flickering with lights in response. Nate did a check that nobody could see them. Only Brandis was in sight, and he was doing a passably good job on not being seen to be watching them.

 

The lines of code stopped, a countdown appearing in the corner when they resumed at furious speed. He nodded to Brandis when he looked back, holding up his right wrist tapping it twice with his index and middle finger and once with just the index. Brandis made the handsign for 'understood' back before sending the Knights on another three laps with a barked command.

 

“About two and a half minutes until we have control of Liberty Prime.” The words were faint, Deacon not making any movement or sign of acknowledgement.

 

He looked up at Liberty Prime, knowing that it would be his and his alone to control. Something electric and dangerous stirred in him at that thought.

 

“A lot can go wrong in two and a half minutes.” Deacon finally spoke. “Sure you didn’t want the tincan boyfriend with you on this? I'm not exactly glad to be here after dodging the last all expenses paid trip.”

 

“Danse doesn’t know about this.” Nate focussed on the pipboy screen, idly reading the lines of command as they came and went with a single minded intensity.

 

“Suspected as much. Any reason?”

 

“Loyalty. I want you to promise what I’m about to say goes no farther than between us, especially not back to Des.”

 

“Girl scouts honour.” Deacon raised his hand, two finger up.

 

“I'm being serious.”

 

“Fine, I promise. When have I ever let you down?” Even with a helmet on he could hear the quiet moment of sincerity.

 

“You already know that we're keeping everyone in the dark, need to know basis and all that. Danse doesn’t know as much as he should. If he knew half the truth he'd go to Maxson in a heartbeat, even if he'd be killed doing it.” He was gripping the metal front of the control console now, hard enough to whiten his knuckles.

 

“And that explains why you've been trying very hard to keep him out of the plan. I'm guessing the Minutemen higher ups know about the bombs and the ambush, Hancock and his militia only know about the march, same for the Atom Cats? That begs the question; what am I missing?”

 

“It's a surprise. You'll find out when it happens.”

 

“Not trusting me?”

 

“Trust nobody.” Nate let the slyest of smiles creep into his face, some of the tension leaving his body.

 

“I don't know how I feel about surprises. Its like a stripper in a giant, novelty birthday cake. Its either great or its Hancock doing it on a dare.” Deacon was grinning under the helmet, Nate could hear it in his voice.

 

“And that was a mental image I shall take to the grave, thank you very much.” Nate looked up from his pipboy long enough to give the blank front of his helmet a mock look of disgust.

 

“It was like a skeleton wrapped in overcooked steak, only it was oiled up and gyrating seductively at me. Speaking of graves I'll be at your side during this so if it goes belly up I a get a nuke to the face too. Which I think might be part of the problem. You don’t want Danse at your side in case it goes wrong.”

 

“Things never go quite right where I’m involved. The frontline will be a dangerous place, if something goes catastrophically wrong I'm not expecting many survivors.” Deacon could see something beneath the surface bothering him in the way he spoke, choosing not to pry immediately remembering Des' warning. “I'll only be there because I have to be. I understand the risks, and I understand there is nothing that can get me out of danger in time if it happens.”

 

Nate was aware of one way out of the situation, he had already considered exactly how long a Relay would take to get someone out and adjusted one of the steps of the plan to compensate for it.

 

“I've got your back until the end. If you go up there alone they might not take this all seriously, you gotta have a show of support. Bigger the gamble, bigger the reward. Remind me to take you to New Vegas sometime.”

 

“You're not making this any easier. I can't afford to flinch, can't even give them reason to think I might. I'm going to be standing ready to kill a lot of good people. I've fought with them, lived with them, bled for them and if this goes wrong they'll all burn.” Nate looked at where Brandis was stood with his arms folded over his chest and a commanding scowl on his brow. He had no idea they were discussing his possible death just beyond his hearing range.

 

“The Railroad is your family. Remember what  I said when you first joined?  W e're just a big happy family, with guns. You're  Agent Charmer, not Knight or Paladin Nathan.”

 

“Why can't I be both?” The look on Nate's face was unusually intense. Deacon could recognise the conflict of interests, the dutiful Knight and the charming spy personas he wore duelling for supremacy. “Agent Charmer, Knight Errant Nathan, General, Grandfather of synthkind.”

 

“This is why.” Deacon motioned to Liberty Prime. “The Railroad is about peace and freedom, the Brotherhood is about war. I know you see good in them, and I hope you're right. But their actions are what I look at, and they do a lot of things I don’t like.” It was Deacons turn to look at Brandis.

 

“We need warriors to safeguard that peace.” It seemed for a moment like he was going to add another thought, but then stopped himself.

 

“Warriors fight for honour. The Brotherhood are soldiers, they fight because that’s what their orders are. Bad idea to mix those two up.” Deacon had seen with his own eyes exactly how far the Brotherhood would take its orders without question. The winters were bitter cold in Rivet City now that its reactor had been 'requisitioned' to power the Prydwen, little care for the civilians left to freeze. The cold was not a problem Underworld suffered, it had taken nearly a month for the embers to cools once they decided having a ghoul colony in their territory was too much of an insult to bear any longer.

 

“What I do is for the future of the Commonwealth. I know where I'm putting my faith and my loyalty.” Nate said it in a way that made Deacon unsettled, there was too much fire behind his eyes.

 

Deacon chose not to pursue it any farther. The shiver that ran through him was hidden entirely by his armour, but the prickling in the back of his mind was now insistant.

 

The countdown ticked downwards a little too slowly for his tastes.

 

“On the topic of faith, why the hell haven’t we been discovered yet? Pretty certain any god isn’t on our side with the grab-bag of sins under our belts.”

 

“I altered the duty rotas, everyone else who should be on duty here has been recalled aboard to deal with requisition paperwork.”

 

“Won't they realise something up when there's no stock paperwork to do?”

 

“That why I moved the requisition dates forward, everyone now has outstanding paperwork.”

 

“That's cruel. Inventive, but cruel. Couldn’t you think of something a little less awful than paperwork, like releasing a pack of hungry deathclaws into an orphanage?”

 

“If it makes you feel any better they won't have time to file it.”

 

“Duly noted. Time remaining?”

 

Nate let the grip on the console loosen as his moment of doubt passed. He looked down at the pipboy screen, watching the last ten seconds ticking by.

 

“Done.” he pulled the plug out and slotted it back into its resting spot. He jumped back into his armour, prying off the helmet and tucking it under his arm.

 

“And the Institute just gave you that?”

 

“I had to make a few promises. On a related note, sorry but I’m apparently going to be using Liberty Prime to murder you. No hard feelings?” Nate offered his hand for a handshake, a wide and clearly faked grin on his face. Deacon could see it was a thinly veiled attempt to bury the previous mood and topic.

 

“You sold me out for a virus? I'm worth at least a handful of caps and a half eaten sandwich on top of that.”

 

“I'm sorry, I wasn’t in a haggling mood. And if we're being brutally honest I think I’d have to pay them to take you off my hands. Like a bad penny, you just keep coming back.” Nate dropped the grin as they passed the outer gate, his face stern and back pulled straight where moments before had been a casual slouch.

 

They both matched the salute the now sweating and panting team of gate guards gave them.

 

“Does Brandis know the full plan.” Deacon looked back. The fact they hadn’t been shot on approach showed that he had actually kept up his part of the deal.

 

“Yes and no. He knows something is going to happen, I said it would be really obvious.” Nate shrugged, the gesture buried in steel.

 

“Understatement. I think the whole of Boston will see it. Probably hear it too.” Deacon took off his helmet once they were out of range. “Once it all happens they're going to know you've played them for fools pretty quickly.”

 

“I suppose so.” For a moment that familiar grin was back on Nates face, wild and unhinged. He could already see the flames licking the sky in his minds eye before something sharp and unpleasant struck the image from his mind.

 

Deacon put a hand before his face and snapped his finger a few times, drawing his attention back.

 

“Okay, you're going to tell me what’s bothering you. I can tell somethings not right.” Deacon lowered his glasses slightly, looking over the top of them.

 

“I did something pretty bad.”

 

“Arson, murder and jaywalking are our bread and butter, how bad could it really be?” Deacon gave a dazzling smile, faltering when he saw just how much Nate was opening up to him. “Bad?”

 

Nate turned his own helmet over in his hands, looking into its eye glass to avoid looking at Deacon.

 

“Bad.” He nodded. “It involves Danse.”

 

“When I got back last night you two were curled up together like a house cat and a battle scarred mountain bear. It was adorable. Didn’t spot any new bullet holes on him so it cant be that bad, not that I thoroughly checked the way you certainly have.” There was a brief glance in his direction, sharp and irritated at the innuendo.

 

“I can't tell you what I had to do, you should know why by now.” Nate almost smiled when Deacon mouthed 'compartmentalisation' to himself. “Something went wrong and I had a choice. I chose the mission at Danses expense. He doesn't know that, yet.”

 

Deacon drew in a slow breath through his nose and exhaled gently, letting it all ferment in his brain.

 

“I'm guessing its pretty bad.” He slowly took off his sunglasses and folded them shut, being careful of the harsh edges of power armour fingers.

 

“I need to know I made the right choice.” It was barely above a whisper, he was staring unblinking into the eyes of the helmet now and gripping its rim tightly.

 

“Don't know enough to rightly say, so I can't say you did. If its really that bad there's only one person who can. Maybe you should write it down just in case.” Nate could feel the spy's gaze burning into the side of his head, trying to work out just what had happened.

 

“You were right.”

 

“I'm always right. Can you be more specific?” Deacon shrugged, a well practised half smile at his lips.

 

“Goodneighbour, yesterday night. You told me that keeping secrets from Danse would end badly.”

 

“Yeah, I remember. Whole time Nurse Ratched was watching me, don't think she realised who I was but she knew something.”

 

“She figured it out later.” Nate hadn’t realised they had stopped walking. They were far enough from the airport for the sound of activity to be barely a far roar, the back and forth of the ocean drowning it out. It was peaceful.

 

The summer passed he had spent his downtime by the water reading, often with Haylen and Danse as company. They had pitched a small tarpaulin over a broken fuselage to keep the sun off of them. It had been relaxing for the most part, with the occasional interruption as they had to draw weapons and chase away mirelurks. The sound of gently lapping water had brought him back to that moment for an instant.

 

“I told you lying to Danse would end badly, not that it was a bad idea. There are sacrifices we just have to make as part of the job. The Railroad survives off lies and misdirection, but it doesn’t stop us dying alone and forgotten in a shallow grave somewhere.” He was clearly thinking about Drummer Boy and Glory. “Lie if you have to, but don't think even for a moment that it'll end well for you.”

 

“I was hoping for something a bit more uplifting, comforting reassurance? Maybe take away some of the guilt?” Nate looked up at Deacon properly for the first time since the tone had turned serious.

 

He seemed to think about this for a moment, considering his answer carefully.

 

“Guilt is good, makes you own up to your mistakes and stops you repeating them. I'd be more concerned if you weren’t guilty about it. Just promise me you won't do it again.”

 

“I promise.”

 

“Girl scouts honour?”

 

“Girl scouts honour.”

 

“All good now?” Deacon flicked his glasses open and back onto his face with a flourish.

 

“Almost.” Nate turned back to the Prydwen. “There's one last thing that I need to do. Go on ahead, i'll be back at HQ this evening.”

 

Deacon was not looking forward to roughly seven hundred and fifty bottles of nuka worth of walking along the sea floor.

 

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Maxson had not been expecting the knock on the door to his quarters. He ate lunch in there alone and had a standing order not to be disturbed unless it was urgent. He rose from his desk and opened the door, expecting to find a nervous Scribe delivering a missive and instead finding a nervous Paladin three weeks missing.

 

“Do you have a few minutes to talk. Off the record.” The Paladin was stood bolt straight, his uniform immaculate, and his expression stern and professional. Maxson suspected it was a very shallow and obvious attempt to win favour.

 

“You have five minutes Paladin.” The insubordinate officer stepped into his quarters, his unease showing in all the small details. His movements were stiff, he was scanning the room and finding that there was only one escape route and he hadn’t made eye contact with the Elder once. These things were all mentally catalogued.

 

“I wanted to talk to...” Maxson raised his hand to cut him off.

 

“You are here to question my judgement in the matters involving former Paladin Danse.” Maxson could see the way he shrunk guiltily into his uniform the same way he did when he wore power armour.

 

“Yes sir.”

 

“I will be candid then. Danse was my right hand, my most trusted officer and I have never felt more humiliated then when I discovered he was a thing masquerading as a human. I miss his presence keenly, but I can not and will not reverse his exile. He has no place amongst the Brotherhood or at my side. I am not willing to risk my position or the stability of the chapter for the sake of one soldier. That adequately covers that topic.”

 

“That answers my question.”

 

“This is still strictly off record. What did you do with him?” The Elder watched the momentary shift of thoughts inside the Paladins head.

 

“I had him moved somewhere safe. I'm aware you sent a team to the listening post.”

 

“A mistake of mine needed cleaning up. I have something I wish to discuss with you, a matter of some confusion. Do you have anything you wish to tell me before I proceed?”

 

“Nothing immediately springs to mind.” The last time Nate had been asked that question it had started a series of life changing events still in motion.

 

Maxson nodded as if he accepted the answer, noting how it was neither a straight yes or no.

 

“There is an inconsistency I would like you to explain to me. Intelligence has reached me that your relations with the Railroad have become strained over what happened with Danse. To the point they sent three agents to kill you? We both know the truth.” He saw the look, that moment as he realised he was trapped. “If Danse isn’t dead then just why would they put out word you are their enemy, including a fairly significant bounty?”

 

“Some of what I said was for Knight Rhys' benefit. If he knew Danse was alive I’m fairly certain he would use that knowledge against me.”

 

“So what really happened?” Maxson could clearly recall several incidents involving Knights Rhys and Nathan.

 

“I tried to take Danse to the Railroad maybe a week after what happened. They opened fire on me even when I told them who I was. They called me a traitor. Caught up to my contact in Goodneighbour a few nights later, he told me you raided Ticonderoga safehouse. I was the only person who could have sold out the location.”

 

“And you should have. I will forgive this transgression for now, but we are returning to this at a better time. I was willing to accept you having connections to The Railroad and Minutemen when we were at peace with them. I will admit having access to their intel was an unforeseen advantage, one I was not keen to lose. But we are at war now, The Railroad is amassing forces and The Minutemen were not willing to accept our terms. Know which side you are on.”

 

“I know exactly where I stand.”

 

“Say it for me to hear.” He leaned forward until he was uncomfortably close. The way the Paladin held his breath and froze in place made it clear he knew exactly who was in charge.

 

“My loyalty is to the Brotherhood of Steel.”

 

“For your sake I trust it is. Is Danse still in the Commonwealth?” The Elder noted that he had yet to blink and his breath had nearly stilled entirely.

 

“For now. The lockdown is making movement difficult without my Railroad contacts.”

 

“You'll be sending him to Acadia then?” Maxson watched the flicker of horror behind the Paladins eyes.

 

“Acadia?” The Elder could see the way he slightly overreached his acting, his confusion likely not genuine.

 

“A synth settlement that has unhappy relations to the Railroad. We found mention of it amongst the records we confiscated. We don't have a location yet but I’m certain you'll be up to the task of purging it once we've dealt with the Institute.”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

“Good. Is there anything else you came here for?”

 

“What did you mean by 'risking your position'?” There was a moment of silence between them as the power and tension shifted. Nate felt a slight relief that he was no longer on the defensive.

 

“I suppose its time you learnt about that. You should already be aware of our recent history, Lyons defection, the splintering and reunification of the chapter. What is often overlooked is the continued support of the other loyalist chapters and with it their constant scrutiny.” His back straightened and shoulders raised as if tensed. “I am pressured to balance my desire to help the people of the Commonwealth with my duty to the Codex and the Brotherhood.”

 

“You executed a loyal officer because letting him live might be viewed as a sign of weakness?”

 

“We are a small chapter compared to the combined strength of the West Coast. If I was pressed to stand down and refused they would have me replaced. By force if necessary. I will not risk a civil war, even for the life of my closest friend.”

 

“Closest friend?” Nate watched the slight slip and realisation of it play out in a short instant.

 

“We are done here. When are you expecting to return to active duty?”

 

“I'll be aboard tomorrow afternoon, I’ll be certain to make my presence known.”

 

“Good. I'm certain you are aware but we move forward with our plans at nightfall tomorrow. Once we have the location of the Institute all Paladins are expected to be at the forefront of the attack, you included.”

 

“Yes sir. I look forward to it.”

 

“Dismissed.” Maxson made a very careful gesture of waving him toward the exit, settling back down at his desk.

 

“Yes sir.”

 

Nate backed out of the room, nearly fumbling the door open and closing it behind him.

 

He took a slow, deep breath and held it just long enough to feel his heartbeat begin to even out. His hands were grasped onto the door handle, holding so tight his fingers ached.

 

“You look like you could do with a drink.” Nate startled, swinging about to face a faintly amused Brandis.

 

“Quantum?” He looked hopeful after a moment to collect himself.

 

“Whisky.” The older Paladin faintly shook his head in disgust.

 

“Pass.”

 

“We really aren’t making Paladins the way we used to anymore.” With a shake of his head he returned to the task he had been given.

 

As they parted he took Nate's hand, the gesture friendly and exaggerated. Nate was fast enough to slip the note into a pocket and grin back as if nothing was amiss.

 

Once away from the ship he unfolded it and couldn’t help but smile.

 

'Ready. More support than expected.'

 

 

 

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“I have a message to be passed immediately to the Director. Liberty Prime is under my control. Proceeding as agreed.”

 

 


	37. Get this Freakshow on the Road

 

Day 20 since the incident at listening post bravo.

  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 

 

The pod opened, Nate lurching upwards out of it only to be caught before he could fall. He scrambled to find something to hold onto, catching a handful of that very familiar grognak shirt Deacon had loaned out some weeks ago. Danse gently helped him find his bearings with his usual patience.

 

With a sharp breath he calmed, looking up at Danse with relief first and then confusion.

 

“We had to pull you out, the good doctor here registered a problem.” Danse nodded to Amari, who was quite busy on her console trying to work out exactly what had nearly overloaded the system. There was supposed to be only two distinct patterns; instead there was four of varying intensities, three of which seemed to be threaded together.

 

Nick was sat next to the pod, wires trailing out of the side of his skull. He gently pulled Glorys memory core out from the back of his head, slipping it into a pocket. Nate had insisted he have a few minutes with her without anybody knowing. The detective was not told exactly why, their meeting had been private and only faint impressions of it had leaked back through the connection.

 

“Nothing serious I hope?” Nate tried to smile, shaking the look of disappointment he had seen Glory wearing from his mind.

 

“You tell me. You were in there trying to find any breaks in your memory, or coding as it may be. So, can you be trusted?”

 

“Of course not, I’m a terrible person.” Nate half joked, getting only a disappointed shake of his head in return.

 

“I'll assume by your attitude we are good to proceed?”

 

“Of course. What are doing here?” Nate spoke it a little to quickly. Danse frowned for a moment at his tone, expression going blank before he blinked hard and remembering what he was doing. Nate tried very hard to ignore it.

 

“I was running drills with the Minutemen contingent stationed here in Goodneighbour. Some of them are as green as fresh Initiate Aspirants.” Danse sighed slightly. “Garvey requested I take a half hour break after one of them threw up. He thinks I’m being too hard on them. I think he's being too soft on them.”

 

Nate had experienced Danses morning drills, being flayed alive by supermutants was a softer approach than what he put Gladius through some days.

 

The Railroad agents had learned to scatter from Danses presence when that time came about. Desdemona had personally watched, with a mixture of pride and the horrified realisation that the Railroad had turned into a circus, as a chain of agents delivered news of Danses imminent arrival from street level down into The Third Rail. They had all proceeded to vanish into stealthfields and disguises leaving only herself and Deacon in a nearly empty room full of strangers where only a moment before had been her cell. She was quite certain if Danse had even swung his arms too far he would have hit at least a dozen cloaked agents.

 

Desdemona had to assure him that she had not seen anybody for a length of time, and that seemed to satisfy him. She failed to mention that length of time was about thirty seconds.

 

Deacon had been entirely amused by it and ordered something fruity with an umbrella in it from Whitechapel Charlie. She had taken it from him before he could drink it, insisting he keep a clear head for what was coming. He had checked her for feathers asking when she had transformed into such a joyless harpy.

 

“So you came looking for me?” Nate grinned widely, knowingly.

 

“What else would I do?” There was a moment as Danse cleared his throat, trying to hide the tinge of colour coming into his cheeks. “I know you haven’t eaten today and I thought it would be wise to do so now before the meeting later.”

 

“Entirely professional, no personal motivations here?” The grin split even wider as the tinge of pink turned deep red across his face.

 

“Please don’t make me say it. You know I enjoy your company and am greatly invested in your well-being, personally and professionally.” He stood bolt straight, his tone measured and controlled in a way Nate knew meant he was trying very hard to keep calm and cool. He found it terribly endearing.

 

“Love you too Danse.” Nate simply took Danses hand and pressed a kiss to his knuckle, still healing from having to hit Brandis in the face.

 

Danse chose not to answer, simply biting his lip and turning his attention to Nick.

 

“Anything to report?”

 

“I felt nothing out of the ordinary on my end, beyond the obvious.” Nick drawled, waving toward Amari and the pod. “I would say he's probably human.”

 

“I would like time to examine these readings, but the brainwave patterns seemed to be baseline human. Doesn’t exclude infiltration unit exactly, but I noticed no above average spikes of activity when stress was applied to the memories that could have been fabricated.” Amari spoke without looking up from her work, scanning back through the recordings of the session for anything out of the ordinary.

 

“Good enough for me.” Danse nodded as Nate took him by the arm and dragged him toward the nearest source of food. Danse refused to move for a moment, his boots squeaking as Nate managed to move him about half a pace before giving up. He was almost impressed, a sly smile crossing his lips that was pushed back quickly. Nate saw it, knowing that he was being mocked and not caring. He was starting to wonder if he was seeing more of Danse and less of the Paladin.

 

There was a moment, and only a moment, where Nick looked straight through Nate in a way that almost made him shiver uncomfortably. He couldn’t be certain which memory ghost it was, Glory or Kellogg. Both were judging his actions.

 

Glory had seen it in his memories. He was certain if she could, she would have picked up the nearest blunt object and inverted his face. He hadn’t tried to justify himself, he had only requested that she remember something for him. She had managed to dismiss herself in disgust, something Nate hadn’t expected her to be able to do.

 

Kellogg had been there the whole time, always in the corner of his eye. He couldn’t quite get in without an invitation, but there was nothing stopping him hitching a ride on Glory and sitting there in the periphery of the simulation.

 

The simulation had broken down soon after, but Kellogg managed to say a few words before it did.

 

Nate left with Danse, shooting Nick one last look. Amari was helping disconnect him from the memory lounger, but he was watching them.

  
  
  
  


 

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There was a roaring of laughter, the kind where half of the room were nearly recoiling in horror and the other half delighting in their misfortune. Danse was still a vivid shade of red, mixing the lingering embarrassment at his own story with laughter so hard it burned his lungs and cramped his sides.

 

“Alright my turn. Mayor Well Preserved, grossest experience.” Cait waved her free hand in his direction, taking a sip from her beer with the other.

 

“Grossest experience? Tough one?” Hancock stopped to think, resting his elbow on the table and putting on a face of deep thought for show. “Best I can recall was the time I woke up half way through the night because I felt something tickling my delightful posterior. Phantom bugs under the skin is not unheard of with my recreational hobbies so I just roll over and ignore it. Next morning I figure out what it was when I peel half a flattened spider off my ass.”

 

There was a shudder for some of the people sat around the table.

 

“Must have played on your mind for a few days.” Cait let a short laugh free.

 

“Half of it was. Never found the other half.”

 

Nate had taken a sip of Quantum when the ghoul had caught him off guard.

 

He tried to hold the laugh and instead forced it out through his nose. He choked and sputtered, the carbonation burning his sinuses and throat. From nostril to tearduct was glowing blue, bright enough to be clear in the dim light of The Third Rail. He regained his composure and let a literally dazzling smile free, his teeth and lips shone like radium. Danse just rested his face in his hand and shook his head faintly, the tug of a smile on his lips displaying his true response.

 

Brandis muttered something to himself as the Atom Cats chattered with laughter. He looked about ready to put his head on the table and pretend that he wasn’t in a conspiracy of idiots. Hancock looked especially proud of himself.

 

Sturges passed a cloth from inside his overalls to Preston who offered it to the General with a kind smile.

 

“So just who are we waiting for?” Cait surveyed the room, doing a head count.

 

“Us, probably.” Deacon poked his head out from the boarded up train tunnel, sliding the false panel back. “Sorry we're late, traffic is murder this time of evening.”

 

“The tunnels are flooded with ferals. Looks like the Brotherhood forced a lot of the packs underground.” Desdemona still had her revolver in hand, a set of body armour thrown on over her usual wear. She unstrapped it and dropped it aside, nodding knowingly to Magnolia softly performing to the private meeting.

 

“its 'bout time.” Hancock waved them over. He knew full well they were scouting out routes under the blockades.

 

“When have I ever been known to miss a party?” Deacon sauntered over, swiping the Quantum from Nate as he passed and dropping into a free chair. Danse leaned over, taking it from over his shoulder and sliding across the table back to Nate in a single swift movement. There was a moment of communication between them that was all smiles and quick eyebrow movements. Cait made an exaggerated retching noise at their whole lovestruck attitude.

 

“Just Curie left I think?”

 

“She isn’t coming.” Nick flicked a note across the table, the handwriting swirling and floral. Nate took it, reading the fairly lengthy apology.

 

“Not surprised. Her wounds were quite serious and even she needs more than a week to bounce back.”

 

“Status?” Desdemona showed only the mildest concern on the surface, Deacon instantly spotting the way her fingers curled slightly tighter into a fist.

 

“Moving about, but a bit hazy with all the Med-X. Healing very quickly otherwise.” Nate skimmed over the various medical terms she had used, not seeing anything he recognised as bad.

 

“I've read the intel. Generation three synths have physical resistance, enhanced immune responses and accelerated tissue regeneration. Makes us very hard to kill. The trauma required would have to be sustained and targeted to put one of us down.” Danse almost didn’t flinch at saying 'one of us' and admitting what he was.

 

Brandis froze perfectly in place hoping to avoid scrutiny. It wasn’t forgotten who had put Glory in the ground even if it remained unspoken. As if sensing the discomfort Deacon lowered his glasses just long enough to shoot him a venomous look. Nate had hoped their discussion days prior had put that topic to rest. It had only been silenced.

 

“Its also a weakness.” Desdemona added smoothly. “Until recently it wasn’t a problem, its come to the Brotherhoods attention that it can be used to detect synths. A few drops of fresh blood and a dash of FEV will do it, reacts like it would to a vaultborn. It was on the network drive Charmer gave them.”

 

“We don’t have access to FEV, we burn every trace of it we find for the good of all humanity.” Danse had stiffened visibly, voice ringing clear and cold. Those that had forgotten momentarily that he was Paladin of the Brotherhood of Steel got a sharp reminder.

 

“We had a small supply in cold storage at the Citadel. It was sent over a not too long ago. Cade was doing a full round of tests on everyone before I left.” Brandis chipped in, hoping to change the subject quickly.

 

“That explains why they took blood the first time I was there.” Deacon still had a mark on the crook of his arm from it. He shrugged, sipping at his drink and trying not to lose an eye to the pink paper umbrella in it. “Other than that a tissue sample in the right conditions can give you away, stays viable a little too long. The Institute figured it was too specific a tell to be a noticed.”

 

“My fault again. It was probably on the network drive.” Nate took a swig of his drink, paying close attention to how little he had left. It was better to focus on that than on Danse and the guilt of what his actions had accidentally done, and worse what he had been forced to do.

 

“And that puts our entire operation at risk. There's already been news of lynchings in Brotherhood controlled settlements.” Desdemona lit a cigarette and took a long drag of it before continuing. “Boxer is handling relocation of the most at risk, we're having to call up that favour you're owed.”

 

Nick made a sound of displeasure, casting a look over to Nate who simply snorted irritably at it.

 

“Dima offer us any help otherwise?”

 

“What do you think?” She took another light drag and let a thin stream of smoke out through her nose.

 

“Of course not. Probably had something pleasant sounding that actually means 'go fuck yourselves' to say. Never met somebody who could be mild mannered and scathing at the same time.”

 

“That's him to the letter.” Nick made a sound that could have been a frustrated snort.

 

“Is somebody going to fill me in on who this Dima is?” Danse watched the way Nick turned toward Nate, Desdemona and Deacon both shifting ever so slightly.

 

“An ally. I did him a favour about six months ago, he doesn’t approve of the Railroad much but he's willing to help.” Nates response was carefully vague.

 

“The bit he's conveniently missing out is that Dima is, for lack of a better word, my brother. And a certain somebody buried all evidence of his crimes.” Nick addressed Danse but was watching Nate out the corner of his eye.

 

“How many people would have died if the truth came out. Do you really think a massacre is serving justice?”

 

“And that’s rich coming from you, especially with all the blood on your hands. It wasn't our call to make.” Nick had stood at the peak of Acadia and watched him leave a smoking crater where once lived the Cult of Atom.

 

“This isn’t the time to be fighting. We have our own war to deal with without dredging up another one.” The former Paladin cut in, Nick leaning back in his chair and Nate putting on the petulant look he usually had when being criticised.

 

“Danse is right.” Desdemona stood up, nodding to Deacon who unfurled several large maps and a plans across the table. “What matters is we are all here and ready to run down exactly what we are doing.”

 

Nate took a breath, shrugging off the scolded expression.

 

“No single person knows the full extent of the plan but me and Desdemona. Everyone has a role to play, but to minimise risk of our plans leaking we've kept everything separate.”

 

“Nathan, Deacon, Tom and Sturges are first. They are handling infiltration.” There was a chorus of nods from them. “If they succeed radio jamming will end and we'll be on the prearranged channels.”

 

“Next is the Atom Cats, half of the Minutemen, Railroad heavies and Hancocks militia at the primary site.” Nate got a 'hell yeah' from Zeke. “Danse, you'll be with the remainder of the our forces securing the secondary site.”

 

“Is there a reason I’m not on the frontlines?”

 

“If the plan goes wrong your orders are to proceed without us. We have contingencies in place for every step.” There was something in the way Nate glanced at Desdemona that made Danse feel uneasy. “Preston has the first stage covered, me and Des have second, back to Preston for third.”

 

“That's a lot of faith you're putting in me General.” Preston took his hat off the table and held it over his heart.

 

“Its well deserved.”

 

“There are two points where I am in immediate danger. If anything happens to me Desdemona is in command.” Nate nodded to Desdemona.

 

“Likewise there is a single part where I have to be in the line of fire with him. If we are both taken out everything should still fall into place, that leaves this up to Danse and Preston. We've given you both the command channels, only for use in a worst case scenario.” Her expression was stern and coldly confident, if she felt any worry it didn’t appear anywhere on her.

 

“No pressure.” Preston let a slightly bitter laugh free. Sturges gently patted him on the shoulder with a concerned frown.

 

“You've brought a significant number of soldiers to this fight, it makes sense that you'll take command.”

 

“What are these contingencies, and what risks are you taking?” Danse narrowed his eyes at Nate who averted his gaze guiltily.

 

“That has nothing to do with your part.” Desdemona kept her tone clipped and final.

 

“Need to know basis I’m afraid.” Nate caught Danse's disapproving gaze for a brief moment.

 

“Are you prepared to face Maxson, even kill him if necessary? I don't know if I could do it in your situation.” Danse kept his sight on Nate, but could see the uneasy shifting of Brandis.

 

“If this works no blood will be spilt.”

 

“We don’t have the luxury of doubt. Not anymore.” Brandis cut in. “Maxson has been playing the Chapter against itself, testing loyalties. Scribe Haylen has proven exactly which side she's on, do you trust she'll be fine if Maxson decides to solve his loyalty problem?”

 

“I would give my life for any of my Brothers or Sisters, Haylen, Rhys and Nathan first and foremost. But Maxson is our Elder. I know him, he's a good man beneath all of the duties that tie his hands.”

 

“Was. He was our Elder.” Nate looked between them. “You're a synth and an exile marked for death, I’m a double agent and he's marked in the records as a liability not counting this little act of treason. None of us are upstanding members of the Brotherhood.”

 

“He's right. If you want to protect your team then this has to be done.” There was a moment of realisation behind the older Paladins eyes, snapping toward Nate. “Liability?”

 

“I have a habit of breaking into things I’m not supposed to. Learned that little secret recently, Cade concurs.” Nate coughed to clear his throat and recited it from memory. “The year of isolation and loss of Artemis has dulled his combat efficiency below acceptable standards and has potentially left him irreversibly contaminated. He was promoted under Lyons, though he has never vocally supported the prior Elders leadership he may still hold views counter to current policy. Future operations should be in a large group of certain loyalties to compensate for these problems.”

 

“And that explains why I was given such so many redstripes to command. They were likely keeping tabs on me.” He sounded especially bitter about it. “I'm not certain I wanted to know that.”

 

“You should read my record.” Nate let a cold laugh free. “From what I've been told the word 'liability' appears more times in just my records than the whole chapter combined.”

 

“I have. It would make for an entertaining read if I were not the C.O. in charge of him” Danse kept his face impassive. A good part of his file was risk assessments he had written highlighting his problems during those early days.

 

Hancock coughed theatrically loud, drawing their attention.

 

“Can we skip the Brotherhood pity party and get this freakshow back on the road. I might not be ageing, but the rest of the smoothskins certainly are.”

 

Danse stilled slightly, knowing that that wasn’t necessarily true.

 

Nate took a sip of his Quantum, swirling the last few drops about the bottom of the bottle with a disappointed look.

 

“The Mayor has a point. What matters now is we go our separate ways and prepare. Our window of opportunity is very small, only a few hours.” The Railroad leader ignored the grin and wink from the ghoul.

 

“So what're we all here for then? You dragged out all of your old travelling mates for something?” Cait leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table.

 

“Glad you asked.” Nate let a broad smile free. “MacCready is out right now scouting for us, Strong is stirring up the Supermutant hives as we speak, Curie and Codsworth will be running triage, Nick and Piper have already done their part. That just leaves you to do what you do best.”

 

“Break shit?”

 

“Oh yes.” He slid an envelope across the table. She tore the head off of it and scanned the page quickly. It was just had a location, a time and a rough drawing of a device.

 

“Fine by me.”

 

“Everyone up to speed?” There was a chorus of agreements and nods from the assembled. “Good. Nothing can possibly go wrong with all of us working...”

 

The room trembled, the sound of shouting and shooting from street level putting them all on alert.

 

“You just had to say it.” Hancock shook his head, already rushing for the stairs up to defend his town.

 

“So what’s your foot taste like seeing its in your mouth right now.” Deacon was after him, Nate taking a single steadying breath and chasing after.

 

Danse hopped into his armour, flanked by two Atom Cats that were for the moment happy to follow his lead.

 

When the doors to The Third Rail were thrown open dust poured in with the distinct biting smell of gunpowder.

 

Cait was the first up the barricades, taking right to Fahrenheits side and shouting orders. Nate had found it a little easy to forget that she had taken up with Hancocks Goodneighbour militia. Hancock had granted her rank, giving her a group of her own to do with as she saw fit.

 

Deacon offered Nate a hand up, swinging him over onto the platform.

 

Nate grabbed for the nearest fallen weapon and laughed wildly at his find. Danse was at his side a moment later, his weapon drawn and pointed into the smoke. The damaged casing was still irritating him, a surge of hot anger piercing his chest every time he saw it.

 

He let it all wash away, clarity and purpose brushing aside the noise and chaos and directing his aim. He found a Brotherhood litany on his lips, a little bitterer now than it should have been.

 

With a sidelong glance Danse saw just what Nate had picked up and felt a distinct spike of worry. He could identify by the silhouette alone what it was, and exactly what it was meant to fire.

 

Nate hoisted it onto his shoulder with a huff of exertion, shoulder screaming in protest where the fake Drummer had injured him. He went down on his right knee, tilted it carefully and fired it with a satisfying 'whump' and enough knock back to nearly stagger him off the barricade.

 

He had been aiming for the flickering red light he had caught a glimpse of amidst the smoke and dust. Danse had peppered the area with a wide spread of laser fire, keeping whatever they were fighting back.

 

There was a white flash, fading to red then orange as it mushroomed upward. A shriek of pain followed and a second explosion, a green brutish thing taller than the barricades staggering forward only to be put down by a pinpoint shot to the left eye by Danse. He swore under his breath, a second shot for certainty striking before it had even hit the ground.

 

Knowing it was just a pack of Super Mutants made Danses thoughts a little calmer. He had been expecting, and dreading, the wall of steel he thought was coming for him. He would never admit it too loudly but he was glad that Nathan had his back.

 

The Minutemens first rank fired their salvo from their laser muskets, dropping low so the rank behind them could fire while they reloaded. Preston called targets, several of which were felled from some hidden vantage point by Railroad snipers.

 

The Atom Cats were quickly out in the thick of it, their improvised shields now properly tempered and reinforced as they marched forward and beat back the oncoming mutants. Zeke was at the head of the assault presenting an image that Danses decade of military training declared to be wrong and absurd. Perfectly kept power armour disrespected with needless decoration, carefully coiffured and primped hair, sunglasses, a shield in one hand and what Danse recognised to be a shishkebab held aloft and flaming in the other. He was mildly irritated that it seemed to be working.

 

Nate was preoccupied reloading in a terrifyingly gleeful way, but in the half second he glanced up to check his surroundings Danse was the first thing he checked the status of.

 

He didn’t see Desdemona until after the battle had been won, but the dust pressed into the front of her clothing and the laser musket she had acquired strongly suggested that some of the sniper shots that had taken key target were likely hers. She didn't admit anything, but there was a few fresh chalk tally marks on the barrel when she had handed it back to the original owner and wished him a speedy recovery.

 

For the first time Danse felt confident in them all. Even Brandis admitted they had potential, stood amidst the triage and cleanup he saw the start of a powerful force that he hoped would one day keep peace in the Commonwealth.

 

Preston was back and forth running everything with practiced ease, General in all but name. Danse knew full well that Nate was going to fix that at some point and give him the title he deserved.

 

Nate reappeared after a short time with a Nuke Cherry and a Nuka Quantum separated from the nuclear catapult before; as Deacon had explained, Nate bonded with it with a mother deathclaw imprinting on her terrifying offspring.

 

Danse took the Nuka Cherry with a warm smile, but still could not shake the glimmer of a feeling when he looked at Nate that he was supposed to do or say something monumentally important. Something he had forgotten.

 

Nate could see the command straining.

 

Danse blinked hard and the doubt was gone instantly, forgotten too easily. He offered a curt 'thank you' a few seconds too late.

 

It hurt to watch, but it was necessary. There would be time later to put things right.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 21 is coming.
> 
> I realise ingame Des only uses a pistol, but I quite like the idea of her being a rather capable marksman from her days as an agent.
> 
> Hancocks spider story happened to me, half of it still haunts me. 
> 
> About 1000 words had to be trimmed from this at the beginning; Nate having an argument with Glorys memory, and Kellogg showing up as the simulation breaks down. It felt unnecessary in the end to actually show it, I think the chapter works well starting 'in medias res' and leaving the actual details of what was said up to the imagination.


	38. The Face of the Devil

Day 21 since the incident at Listening Post Bravo

 

 

 

“Ever been to New Vegas?” Deacon lit a cigarette, taking a long drag of it as they came up out of College Square Metro Station little worse for wear from the many packs of feral ghouls that hunted the old train lines.

 

“No.” Nate tried to keep his composure stern and severe to reflect the gravity of what they were about to do, but curiosity got the better of him. “Why is this appropriate?”

 

“I like to think of the Brotherhood like a Gomorrah girl in this situation. They'll make us pay for every inch.”

 

There was a delay as Nate processed.

 

“Fuck, Deacon.” He looked at him in a mix of shock, disgust and disbelief, snatching the cigarette from out of his lips and flicking it away. Before Deacon could respond his helmet was snatched out of his hands and slammed down over his head. He exhaled, smoke pouring out of the gaps before the pressure seal engaged.

 

Sturges shook his head at both of them.

 

“Try not to screw this up.”

 

“I will not fail at this task Brother. Ad Victoriam.” Deacon's voice was instantly unrecognisable; a deep, booming timbre that commanded respect. The novelty of it had yet to wear off.

 

Tinker Tom was with them in a scribes field uniform clearly meant for someone of a much wider build, but he had at least cleaned himself up enough to pass as not being a wasteland scavenger at a glance.

 

“Remember the plan everyone, follow my lead.” Nate motioned round the corner to Cambridge Police Station.

 

Deacon tore the top off a blood transfusion pack and dumped it down the front of Tom's uniform, painting a few spatters and slashes with it for added effect before sweeping him up in his arms.

 

“Its like that old world tradition of carrying a bride over the threshold.” Tom spoke with a half serious frown before going limp.

 

“We're getting married? I hope you understand I’ll be the one wearing the dress.” Deacon smirked. “I look stunning in white layers and a garter belt.”

 

“Don't remind me.” Tom mumbled as they approached the station.

 

“Shush, you're supposed to be dyin'.” Sturges poked an armoured finger into his stomach, getting a wheeze in response.

 

Nate made a mental note to find out just what the hell they meant by that, the image of Deacon dressed up in bridal wear burning in his mind and pushing out valuable information he needed to remember.

 

They approached the station at a run. Turrets on the outer barricades tracked their movement, Knights raising their weapons as a precaution.

 

“Knight, we have wounded. I'm requisitioning the Vertibird for an evac.” Nate waved down the guard on the barricade who rushed to greet them.

 

“Identify yourself.”

 

“NR-793P, Paladin Errant Nathan, Recon Gladius.” He passed his helmet from hand to hand so that he could present his rank markings.

 

“The station is supposed to have a Vertibird landed at all times, sir.” The Knight was very young and very new to the position. The stripes on his wrist were pristine and freshly painted.

 

“I am taking it whether you agree or not. Bring me the keys, that's an order. Take it up with the Elder if you have to.” Nate wasn't shouting, but his voice carried perfectly well with all the threat and warning a man of his rank should be able to muster. Danse would have been proud.

 

“Yes sir.” The Knight stiffened, practically retreating into his armour. Cambridge Station was where they put the less experienced soldiers to season them.

 

Nate let the slightest sly smile creep into his features. Deacon watched him brush his dark hair behind his ear, catching the slightest glimpse of a white plastic earpiece before his helmet was put into place.

 

They sprinted through the station, actually surprised it was working. The Knights and Scribes saluted them as they went past.

 

They were all wearing the markings of a Paladin. It was only luck that nobody had questioned so many of them travelling together with a lone field Scribe.

 

They circled three flights of stairs and out onto the roof, a single Knight barely nodding to them as he looked out over the sandbags with binoculars in hand and laser longrifle at his side.

 

Once in the Vertibird they all breathed a sigh of relief, Tom jumping into the control seat and getting them in the air before anybody could see them. Sturges took copilot, watching how jerkily Tom controlled it with a healthy amount of concern.

 

The engines made a concerning whirring noise twice before Sturges muttered something and hit the proper preflight ignition control. Something recoiled inside everyone aboard as they took off somewhat horizontally.

 

“I just want you to know you are terrifying when you act all authoritative.” Deacon looked right at Nate. “I like the 'fun' you, not the 'in charge' you. Can you not do that again?”

 

“I make no promises. Maybe we could go blow something up and laugh at it like we used to?”

 

“I think after today you'll have had enough of explosions for a good long time.” Deacon wished he wasn’t in a helmet. With a sudden epiphany he realised just why Danse explained everything at such length when he spoke; all subtle facial movement and nuanced meaning was destroyed by their helmet.

 

“No such thing as too many explosions.” The crooked smile wasn’t visible, but Deacon could guess well enough that it was there. There was something deeply terrifying and exciting about the vault dweller that made him glad they were on the same side.

 

He had to wonder why a man who had seen the bombs that ended the world drop was so fixated on destruction.

 

There was a warning sound as the back end started leading the turn into a wide arc, Nate recognising the tailspin warning less than affectionately referred to as 'the last prayer' by the repair crews that had to salvage them. Sturges scrambled for the controls until he found the stabiliser and switched it on. There was something unspoken in the look Sturges shot Tom, a lot of it probably profanity and blame.

 

“I got it. I got it. I got it. I got it. I definitely got it this time.”

 

“You said you knew how to fly this thing.” Sturges was only figuring it out because somebody had left a note taped to the console with the proper sequence.

 

“You told Des you could fly a vertibird.” Deacon leaned into the pilot section, his grip so tight on the hull his armour was groaning.

 

“Of course I can. I read the manual cover to cover.” Tom sounded so proud of himself.

 

“We're going to die.”

 

They levelled out, Sturges fiddling with the controls frantically and nervously eyeing up Toms piloting. Once in the air and moving in a mostly straight line they collectively relaxed.

 

Nate lifted his weapon and did a cursory check, suggesting they all do the same. He gently took Sturges armoured hand and moved his finger off the trigger of his weapon, muttering about 'proper trigger discipline' as he did so. Sturges was glad his helmet hid the look on his face. Nate was glad he hadn’t accidentally startled and shot Tom or the controls.

 

The Prydwen was on the horizon now and approaching fast. Docking permission had already been sent and processed, a space primed for them.

 

Nate brought up his helmet overlay and attuned it to the right frequency. His pipboy spat a few errors through the connection to his armour at the intrusive code but otherwise seemed to function. The order was sent for the Institute to begin.

 

There was a moment where he wondered if the Brotherhoods communication jamming had blocked it.

 

The sharp crack of relay came from below, followed by several others in rapid succession. The Vertibird trembled slightly as energy weapon fire peppered the underside.  
  
Brotherhood forces scrambled to meet the Institute attack, the spit and crackle of red light and heavy bullets tearing into the oncoming forces.  
  
Deacon leaned over the edge and took a quick headcount. He could make out the distinct black coat of a Courser amongst a great many gen-2's.  
  
“Good timing.” The Railroad spy laughed a little nervously. Coincidences were dangerous to accept blindly, too many times they were the mark of a carefully laid plan. At least it gave them a few minutes to act without scrutiny but it was worrying to have the Institute so close at such a critical time.

 

The thunder crack of incoming relay didn’t relent. Deacon suspected this wasn’t the usual probing attacks the Brotherhood had come to expect and the Brotherhood was not quick to respond to an assault on their doorstep.

 

“Scared?” Deacon asked quite innocently, watching Nate stare out into the sea of red and blue light flickering back and forth.

 

“Few things scare me anymore. Just deathclaws, radroaches in my sleeping bag and Danses chin.” Nate let out a little snort of laughter.

 

“I dread to ask, but what?”

 

“Danse is hiding a hell of a chin under the scruff. Terrifying and awe inspiring.”

 

The docking clamp latched on heavily, the usual repair and refuel crews not rushing to greet them.

 

With a final nod they scattered to their tasks.

 

Sturges was going to handle the gas reservoir and engines, Deacon was going to shut down their long range transmitters and rig up the ballast tanks. Tom was to stay with the Vertibird until they returned.  
  


Nate was going below deck to cut the line for the announcement system and splice in their own device. He had a handful of other small objectives they had not been made aware of, part of which was lowering the defences as he had agreed to do so for the Institute assault.

 

Knights, Scribes and Initiates were mobilising and focused solely on the force at the gates. It wasn't difficult to go unnoticed as he made his way to the lowest parts of the ship, counting the floor panels as he did so. He lifted the one he was certain was right, slipping out of armour and into the crawl space below deck and getting to work.

 

He had to crawl along on his back with his elbows, seeing the panel from the schematics just out of reach. He got as close as he could, prying it open and tearing away the screws bolting it shut.

 

With a few cut wires and a little metal foil they now had control of the Prydwen's communication systems, both internal and external. The device was crude, Toms haphazard handiwork was evident, but it seemed to light up when given power. He couldn’t help but grin at what chaos he had planned for that.

 

He had always wondered if the announcement system could be hacked but was never actually brave enough to do it. Elder Maxson had been fairly lenient with him thus far and pushing that leniency too hard was a certain way to be either be thrown out the Brotherhood or buried under a mountain of disciplinary hearings.

 

Tracing the cabling he picked out the one that controlled the flow of power to 'auxiliary systems' as the schematics had named it. With a rubber handled knife he hooked it through and tore into it. It was fairly thick and well insulated, taking a significant amount of time to carve through.

 

A moment later the device in his ear crackled and gave a confirmation.

 

“ _Anti-Relay shielding is down. Thank you.”_

 

The distant thunder crack drew closer.

 

“I need five minutes. Don't advance the plan until I give the order.” Nate listened to the silence. There was obviously a discussion going on at the Institute they didn’t want to be overheard.

 

“ _Acknowledged.”_

 

He wasn’t certain which way to interpret that.

 

He left his armour below deck, needing to do one last thing before getting back in.  
  
  


 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

  
  
  


Haylen was sitting at Quinlans desk whilst he was at Command with the Elder dealing with the situation. The duty rotation had put her there for the next few days rather than at the station, a stark and sudden chance from the normal routine. Rhys was near at least being on gate security and had promised to make time in the evening for them to catch up. There was still too much tension there, but he had at least mumbled something close to an apology.

 

“Haylen.”

 

She spun on the spot, turning to Nate's voice and finding only an empty room.

 

“Nathan?” She spoke tentatively, wondering if her mind was playing tricks on her.

 

The air shifted audibly, followed by the fizzle of a stealthboy field collapsing. Nate leaned against the wall taking a steadying breath as the colour returned to his face. His health returned to him quickly with a quick flash of a dazzling smile that Haylen knew meant trouble.

 

“Apologies for this but I need that favour from you.” Nate opened his palm, offering a device for her to take.

 

She took it tentatively, noting that he had grease on his hands as if working with something mechanical in only the last few minutes.

 

“What am I supposed to do with this?” She turned it over a few times, the craftsmanship was crude at first glance but not so much that she would write it off immediately. She recognised the short range transmitter by its distinct prongs, a series of microphones connected to it by a braided coil of wires.

 

“Its linked into the Prydwens announcement system. You are going to coordinate the evacuation to Nordhagen beach.” Nate leaned slightly, his thumb and forefinger resting against a dial of whatever device was strapped to his hip, the same one he had worn two days prior to their meeting at Goodneighbour.

 

“Evacuation? I hadn't realised the situation was that dire.” She had heard a fairly large explosion barely a minute ago, and silence thereafter.

 

“The beach is the only safe landing spot, any Vertibird that deviates from that course will be shot down. As for why, the main gas reservoir keeping the Prydwen in the air has been rigged with explosives.”

 

“What?”

 

Nate drew a small trigger from a pouch with his free hand, turning a dial on it several times with the pad of his thumb. He pressed the button once, holding it for a count of three before tapping it once again.

 

The ship shuddered and heaved violently, cambering to the left as the engines strained to keep up. Nate wobbled on his feet but kept upright, Haylen braced herself but the contents of Quinlans desk was now spilling haphazardly across the floor.

 

Alarms blared only a moment later, but no warnings came over the tannoy system. That had only been one of the ballast tanks.

 

“I don't know the proper protocol for it, but you do. I suggest you start the evacuation, that thing only has one use though before it burns out so get it right.” Nate vanished from sight with a devilish smile before Haylen could fully draw her sidearm. She held it up to where he had been, uncertain whether to gamble on a spread of shots in such a confined area or not. Her indecision made the choice for her, he had likely already escaped.

 

She swore to herself, looking at the microphone that had been given to her. There was going to be hell to pay when she caught up with Nate.  
  
  


 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

  
  
  


Nate ran through the ship as fast as he could muster, power armour heating up inside as the environmental controls spat out warnings. Deacon was out on the vertibird dock, almost unrecognisable in the moment as he guided the youngest initiates onto the aircraft and kept up the order to abandon ship.

 

The announcement had been made, coordinates given and now the evacuation was underway. That also meant Haylen was probably hunting him.

 

“Orderly line, Initiates first, that’s an order.” Deacon yelled out, his voice of command so close to perfect that Nate had to override the urge to fall into line.

 

The initiates flocked about him like sheep around a shepherd before falling into a neat, well practiced row. They turned to give a salute to Nathan when they recognised him, snapping back to an almost parade perfect stance when Deacon very loudly coughed.

 

Nobody had questioned yet who Deacon was, just that his markings were those of an officer from the Citadel. The only reason Nate recognised him was the black stripe painted across and through his eye glass.

 

No actual authority had come to stop them yet, and the evacuation was far enough along that hopefully the origin of the order would be assumed to have been lost in the command chain somewhere.

 

All Vertibirds had been recalled, all Brotherhood forces minus a few at Cambridge were within the airport and the Prydwen. That had always been part of the preparations to assault the Institute. Their was supposed to be a few contingents left at their various outposts and forward bases to keep them operational, at least until that part of the order was rescinded along with several careful changes to duty rotations that all looked perfectly official.

 

They had the Brotherhood all in one place.

 

Nate pulled a quick salute to Deacon who mirrored it back.

 

“Report.”

 

“All ahead normal.”

 

“Proceeding.” Nate nodded, leaning over the edge. He had to remind himself that it wasnt anything to be afriad of. He tried to focus on the real things that scared him' radroaches, deathclaws, Danses phenomenal jawline. It really didn't help.

 

Deacon was about to question what he was doing when he took a step back and threw himself over the edge before fear could convince him otherwise.

 

He knew logically that it was perfectly fine. He had shock absorbers that Danse had personally calibrated. Falling wasn’t the problem, it was being introduced very quickly to the ground that tended to be disagreeable.

 

He exhaled as he landed, exactly as Danse had taught him.

 

Deacon exhaled when he saw Nate was not a wet smear leaking out the bottom of his armour.

 

The initiates all scrambled to check over the edge, Sturges sheepishly checking too and wondering if he was going to have to duct tape Nate's legs back together.

 

Taking a tentative step it seemed everything below his waist hadn’t been reduced to liquid from the shock, waving up to the audience. He ignored the whine the shock absorbers made, and the little flickering warning in his helmet that they were experiencing 'thermal stress' at approximately 114% of what was considered safe.

 

“Enough gawking, eight to a Vertibird. Go” Paladin Deacon quickly took charge of the situation again, pushing them toward a waiting Vertibird.

 

The second explosion happened moments later, an engine gone. Nate cursed to himself as hot shrapnel rained down on him, a reminder he was needing to make better time.

 

He had landed amongst a chorus of shouted commands, a Knight atop the barricades calling targets to the handful of brothers and sisters and directing their fire into the heaving tide of metal bodies. The scribes were clutching their weapons, waiting for orders over the tannoy that would never come.

 

The first barricade had already failed, Knights retreating slowly keeping up the punishing fusillades of fire. They were determined not to lose the next line of defence.

 

“Knight, we are evacuating. Get your forces to the vertibirds now. I'll cover your retreat.” Nate didn’t raise his weapon to the synths attacking, the earpiece was transmitting a signal that marked him as friendly so long as he didn’t give them reason to attack.

 

“Just what are you planning to do alone.” The tone was condescending, recognisable even through helmet static. Rhys snapped back to the fight, stamping down hard on the skull of a fallen gen-2 and cracking it casing open.

 

Nate wanted to swear to himself.

 

“I have Liberty Primes command codes from the Elder. Get out of here now, that’s an order. Nordhagen beach is our rallying site.”

 

“Prime isn’t operational, we tried. Ingram couldn’t even coax it awake. She went up to command to find out why the commands had been rewritten.” Rhys ducked as a shot hit the outer wall next to his head, his look suggesting he did not appreciate Nate diverting his much needed attention. “Orders from who?”

 

“No idea, I got them passed to me when I arrived. Guessing Elder Maxson, he was coordinating it with Kells.”

 

“Fine. To the vertibirds, move.” Rhys drew a grenade from his pouches, twisting it in the middle and counting upward to two and a half before throwing it, turning on his heel and running after the rest of the gate guards. It landed with a burst of green flame and shrieking metal.

 

Nate fired his weapon up into the air, giving the retreating Brotherhood team the impression he was covering their retreat to the aircraft.

 

The last few of the automatic turrets gave a high pitched warning and exploded just as they took off in the landed vertibird.

 

The swell of skeletal, iron bodies flowed clumsily over the barricades and tanglewire, weapons raised momentarily until they recognised the signal. They stilled at a shouted order from behind their line, a few twitching and sparking from damage. The swell split and from it marched a single Courser standing tall and wearing a familiarly severe expression.

 

Nate grinned ear to ear under the helmet and relaxed into a slouch recognisable even in power armour.

 

“Here it is. Exactly as we discussed.” He threw his arms wide, motioning to the airport falling under Institute control.

 

“The Director will be pleased to hear his faith in you was well placed.” X6-88 nodded an affirmative.

 

“Was my loyalty ever in doubt?” Nate noticed the slight shift in the courser. “My next transmission will be for you to relay to the arranged coordinates.”

 

“Understood. Our intel has confirmed the Railroad, Minutemen and Goodneighbour militia are all converging on the agreed upon ambush location. I am ready should you need it.”

 

“Hopefully I won't. I suggest sweeping the building, I suspect there will be fail-safes in place to be dealt with.” Nate looked toward Liberty Prime, but continued to address X6. “Good luck.”

 

“Sir?”

 

“Nevermind. Get on with your mission.”

 

Nate scrambled up Liberty Primes maintenance frame before he could be pressed to elaborate and stood on the gangway close enough to be heard.

 

He rested one hand against it, expecting it to be warm and buzzing with power even through his armour and mildly disappointed that it was just polished metal.

 

“Override command 'I.N.797' all directives through me only, quickboot sequence and battleready.” He recited the well rehearsed command. It only remained to be seen if the Institute had truly trusted him with control over such a powerful weapon.

 

“Online. All systems nominal, awaiting orders.” The booming voice washed over him, cutting through the sirens.

 

“You are to make your way to the following co-ordinates.” Nate transmitted the location of Nordhagen Beach to Liberty Prime through his pipboy, hoping the technology was compatible.

 

“Calculating optimal route. Complete.”

 

“Any aircraft seen heading any direction but west to this location and back is to be given a warning shot, destroyed if they do not return to their designated flight path. This order cannot be countermanded by any other than myself.”

 

“Acknowledged. Engaging.”

 

Nate took a tentative step onto Prime's hull, activating the magnetic locks Danse had installed in his power armour boots. Danse was not going to be pleased when he found out just what he was using them for. For the briefest moment he could see that look on Danses face, dark eyes full of hurt staring at him down the sights of Righteous Authority.

 

He shook the thought from his head, the Paladin was a distraction he couldn’t afford to dwell upon. That would run its proper course when it was time.

 

Liberty Prime paused briefly to ascertain why its internal gyro was adjusting for extra weight on one side, shifting power to compensate when its ascertained why. Nate climbed awkwardly up its hull, coming to a stop on its left shoulder. The view was quite spectacular from up there, even with the synths trying awkwardly to get out of the way. He couldn’t help but want to laugh as they scattered like ants.

 

From his unique vantage point he could see the true extent of the forces invested in the attack, more than he could hope to count. The ground heaved with metal and plastic, too many yellow bright eyes watching him, unblinking and unwavering.

 

He hoped it was the full force of the Institute invested in this attack. Some were broken and damaged, hauling their bodies forward over the remains of the vanguard. They turned to acknowledge his presence and raised weapons momentarily before returning to their mission.

 

He gave one last salute to X6-88 who after a moment matched it back. Nate let that wild, knowing grin return.

 

Prime began its march.

 

A shiver ran through him as the full weight of his actions caught up, the adrenaline parting for a moment and clarity taking its place. A single command could bring down the full power of Liberty Prime wherever he chose. It was power beyond anything the Institute could bring to bear, even the combined might of the Brotherhood chapter could crumble beneath it. There was something intoxicating about that.

 

A final small thing was left to be done for everything to be in place. It was needless, petty and just too satisfying not to indulge in. He only wished he could see the look on Maxsons face.

  
  
  


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The Elder ushered forces toward Vertibirds and gave orders to his troops as they scrambled for direction.

 

Between one command and the next his voice was cut off by a shrieking whine from the malfunctioning tannoy. It silenced off abruptly leaving an echo in his ears only to be replaced moments later by the thunderous opening of 'The Ride of the Valkyries'.

 

It drowned out his shouts and trembled the hull of his ship, the vibrations so strong he thought he could feel his teeth rattling. He took a deep breath, hoping it would bring him calm and clarity, finding it did not. He was all to familiar with from 'improper conduct' hearings. With a sinking feeling he knew exactly who was behind the attack.  
  
From across the flight deck he shared a look with Kells who had evidently came to the same conclusion. Whatever the Lancer Captain had tried to shout was drowned out. Maxson simply made a gesture toward a Vertibird, his order understood.

 

He needed someone coordinating on the ground at the evacuation site whilst he did his duty to the crew of his ship. Vertibirds flew from Nordhagen to the Airport and ack in a constant loop, picking up too many on each trip and lurching through the air under strained engines.

 

Maxson moved through the Prydwen, grabbing Quinlan on the way through and dragging him from his work. Too many of the Armoursmith and Cataloguing Scribes were below deck trying to grab whatever was deemed vital to preserve. Between the ire of their leader and another engine exploding they chose to leave it all behind.

 

The final few were boarded onto the Vertibirds, the last of them confirming no other souls remained aboard. By that point he could hear a distinct tinny ringing that he was certain would not fade for some hours.

 

He took the last available craft for himself with the four Paladins that had coordinated the initial evacuation. He started to run through scenarios in his head, taking inventory of what resources they had to hand and how best to respond to this violation of his trust. Paladin Nathan was to be stripped of rank and executed at first opportunity for his betrayal. He had chosen to give him a degree of freedom after the situation with Danse, that had evidently been a mistake. His sympathies had been used to turn him against the Brotherhood.

 

He gave the order to take off just as another engine exploded. The Prydwen was tilting dangerously now, the mooring cables were snapping freely in the wind and taking chunks out the airport tower as they did so. Tinker Tom gave a wobbly salute, the last craft stuttering into the air and heading out east toward the landing site outlined in signal flares.

 

With a sudden moment of clarity he noticed the soldiers around him were all looking at him. The first thing he noticed was that they were all wearing non-standard markings on their helmets. If he had not been distracted by the destruction of his ship he would have noticed the pilot was drenched in blood and on so many mentats he could taste the day of the week. He reached for his sidearm, a set of rifles raised in warning.

 

“So what brings an asshole like you to a Railroad controlled 'bird huh?” Deacon leaned forward.

 

Sturges reached over carefully, taking the pistol at his hip from him and throwing it out the side.

 

Maxson made no effort to resist, his assessment of the situation presented no definite way out at present. He could disarm the one to his left who seemed the least trained and use their weapon to kill the others, but the risk of hitting the pilot or controls before he could take the helm was too high. Once the vertibird was in a freefall the survival rate was abysmal. They were over water too, the radiation dose he would receive swimming to shore would certainly kill him.

 

He chose silence. There was ample chance later for him to kill them and seek revenge against the traitor. He now knew who had taking his most promising Paladin from him, and there would be no place in the Commonwealth the rats could bury themselves he would not find them.  
  
  


 

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Liberty Prime was not the smoothest of rides but it was certainly the most fun Nate had had in quite some time. The metal titan played the music at such volume it made the plates of his power armour rattle and vibrate, reverberating through his chest and pulsing through his body.

 

The Minutemen followed in its shadow, Railroad agents moving up alongside but mostly unseen. A number of ghouls in fancy suits or mismatched armour were in their ranks, lead by Hancock who had yet to stop laughing at the whole situation. He was having the time of his life, he had even gone cold turkey on the chems for the day just to be certain every moment of the Brotherhood 'getting knocked down a peg or twenty' was remembered in crystal clear detail.

 

There had been a promise to “take the stick out of that Elders ass and replace it with a Goodneighbour flag” the mental image of which had made Nate laugh so hard his sides hurt.

 

The Atom Cats advanced ahead of Prime, acting as a wall for incoming fire between the Brotherhood and Nate's army should it be needed. They were a little too itchy on their trigger fingers by his estimate, revenge was what they wanted. They were a calculated risk but their presence provided protection for the less armoured troops.

 

The Vertibirds had been parked in neat rows exactly where he had expected them to be with the Brotherhood moving to secure their position quickly. They were fenced in, the only way other than to swim for freedom was through a small army and a nuclear armed pre-war robot.

 

The Atom Cats lead the charge, stopping at the line of stones left the night before and dropping to their knees behind their shields. The Brotherhood had already opened fire, the wall of mismatched metal holding fast as they dug into the sand with deep mooring spikes, locked together with a heavy 'thunk' when the magnets were activated.

 

“Prime, stop the music and connect my helmet comms to your loudspeakers.” Nate gave the order as Prime stepped over the wall.

 

“Complying. Make the communists listen.”

 

“Ceasefire, Ceasefire!” It took a moment for them to listen. “Brotherhood of Steel. You have one chance to lay down your weapons and exit your power armour. We are here to negotiate your surrender on behalf of the Commonwealth.”

 

There was exactly twenty three paces between the Brotherhood and the Atom Cats line, a distance calculated by PAM.

 

Nate observed the single vertibird circling over the water between the spit of land they were on and the airport. He was certain that was Maxson leaning out the side of it.

 

He would have to congratulate Deacon for capturing the head of the Brotherhood of Steel, assuming it wasn’t a lucky coincidence he got into their craft.

 

The Brotherhood talked amongst themselves, Paladin Nathan was of rank enough to order at least some of them to disarm themselves, though circumstances made it obvious he had turned from their side.

 

They reluctantly took the cores, cells and magazines from their weapons before laying them out at their feet. Nate knew that every soldier was trained to reload at speed and under fire, the gesture typically used to feign surrender. It was acceptable enough for now.

 

He waved to the Vertibird in the air. It circled once before landing unevenly, Maxson approaching at a careful pace and showing no mark or sign of the rage he must have been feeling. He appeared to be the measure of calm and collected.

 

Nate disengaged the magnetic lock, jumping from his perch and scattering sand and gravel as he landed. A table was passed over the wall of shields and power armour and placed between Nate and the Brotherhood. A copy of the codex was passed over too, bookmarked on a very particular page ready to be opened. All as per PAM's instructions.

 

“Would you care to explain what this is about Paladin.” Maxson approached the negotiating table as if he controlled the situation, making a quick handful of gestures to his troops for them to close ranks properly and rally to his side.

 

The ground had been disturbed recently in several places, Maxson estimated the distances between to be the overlapping blast radius of an M42 Fatboy shot dampened by two foot of damp sand. The line of stones seemed to mark the safezone where the blasts would be survivable to those in full power armour. He had also observed that Nate was not on the safe side of the markings though his army was.

 

“I believe I am negotiating the surrender of the Brotherhood of Steel on behalf of the Commonwealth.”

 

“You cannot be serious.” Maxson watched as one of the 'Paladins' that had brought him across the water took off his helmet and stood at Paladin Nathans side, wearing a wide smirk under mirrored glasses. They both wore such infuriatingly smug expressions.

 

Deacon dropped his helmet, catching it at his shin with a kick that sent it a fair distance away. It landed heavily in the sand, several armoursmith scribes flinching at his disrespect.

 

Nate tilted his head to the left slightly, listening to a short report in his earpiece. The Prydwen had been successfully taken, the majority of the Institutes force were waiting for the order to relay to his location.

 

“I have one thing I’d like to say just to prove how serious I am about this.” Nate took off his helmet and laid it out carefully on the table. He turned to Desdemona, flashing her a smile and getting one in return with an approving nod. With a quick movement he tapped the earpiece twice, getting a short confirmation from X6-88.

 

He raised the detonator and held down the big red button, counting down in his head the exact time it took for a single site to site relay to lock on.

 

He let go of the button with a flourish.

 

The Prydwen was gone in an instant, replaced with a pillar of heat and light, taking with it nearly the entirety of the Institutes army. He didn’t flinch at the explosion. Neither did Maxson though.

 

The fire reflecting in his eyes and that terrifying grin plastered to his face made the Elder feel for a moment like he was looking into the face of the devil.

 

Nate thought nearly the same when it made the Elder appear to just be a shadowy outline wreathed in flame.

 

“It appear we are at an impasse. Again.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 21 finally here.


	39. Distraction Failed

Day 21 since the incident at Listening Post Bravo

 

 

It had only taken a set of bolt cutters and a few well places shots to take down the defences and break open the front gates. Preston and Danse led the group in, securing the buildings and confirming that there was no alarms or sensors that would alert the Prydwen that the outpost had fallen out of Brotherhood control. They were too deep into their territory to afford any attention. Tall walls and searchlight now ringed in a good portion of Nahant, the sheriffs office now a forward command centre across from a makeshift barracks.

 

First priority was for power to be switched back on, Danse taking to the command centres roof to act as lookout. He had brought a pack with him, loaded up with tools so that he could put the Minutemen to work on repairing the defences they had vandalised on the way in.

 

Preston had lamented that Sturges was in one of the other two groups, as they clearly needed his help. Danse had to agree when he found how easily the repair crew he had draughted in fell into bickering about how to do their jobs. And when to do it. And who was doing what. It had taken Danse pulling all of his authority, backed by Preston, to get them vaguely into line.

 

He had eventually decided to wash his hands of the whole situation and settled on the roof. Righteous Authority had been left to his care, the casing still damaged from the night nearly a month ago and more recently by something he couldn’t quite identify. He had his repair tools with him, but found the will and desire to work on it lacking. His mind itched to do something, but nothing appealed to him.

 

He was trying very hard not to look up at the bright orange flag flapping proudly in the wind, his heart twisting in his chest every time he caught it in the corner of his eye. Across the bay, past the hulking metal leviathan that had been the raider town of Libertalia, then Nordhagen, was the Prydwen.

 

One of the Minutemen militia poked their head up the ladder to ask if they could borrow the core from his armour. It had been left on the ground level, too dangerous to risk bringing its weight up through the structure even with the Brotherhooods repairs. The Minutemen had been shuffling around it, too afraid to even touch it lest they summon Danses wrath again. He offered them the core under protest. The fusion generator in the basement had its previous core removed by the Brotherhood contingent on the way out, leaving only auxiliary batteries to keep the defences running.

 

Something had not been quite right that morning, the Railroad had gathered at Goodneighbour while the last few orders were passed down the lines. Nate had thought himself subtle, but Danse could see that he had been watched. That look had been one of deep with concentration like he was trying to remember something. It was that same look he had when sat down and forced to read the Codex, trying to burn the litanies into memory. Danse understood now that he had done it to try and impress him. It hadn’t worked at the time.

 

Even their parting had been slightly off. Nate had been almost reverently gentle with that last kiss where he was usually too eager and too impatient. It made Danse uneasy, something at the back of his head shouting a warning he couldn’t seem to quite acknowledge.

 

Desdemona had been better at watching him without being obvious, but once he knew he was being observed he had gotten quite good at spotting it. She had only started doing it two night ago, or he had only first noticed it then, but it was starting to concern him. Her scrutiny only meant that what trust they had established had vanished for some reason he could not fathom.

 

Preston found Danse sitting with a circle of tools around him and a deep set of lines furrowed into his brow. His weapon was still sealed and unrepaired, the first screw loosened once then left in place. He was instead staring at the flag with a fierce intensity. He would have suspected Danse was daydreaming if it wasn’t for the brief look shot in his direction and the faint nod that passed for a greeting.

 

“How are you holding up?” Preston laid his musket against the wall and sat next to him, his voice as warm and inviting as his smile.

 

“Anything I need updating on?” Danse offered him a thin smile in return to be polite before his expression hardened again, avoiding the question very deliberately.

 

“We just got radio back, everywhere has checked in all fine.” Preston was brightly optimistic. It was good that the raiders hadn’t noticed the sudden absence of a good portion of the Minutemen forces.

 

“Anything else?” What he meant to ask was 'Nathan?' but it didn’t quite make it. There was a stab of anger from nowhere he couldn't quite place, the sensation of Righteous Authority slipping through his grasp haunting him before being sharply forgotten.

 

“I've not heard from him yet. You'll be the first I tell, I promise you that much.” He seemed to understand.

 

“I appreciate it.”

 

“I know you don’t want me to pry, but are you doing alright?”

 

“Acceptable. All missions carry a risk of loss or injury, I've been through it enough times to know not to expect a perfect outcome. I can hope though.”

 

“I know the General, they'll claw through hell and high water to get back to you. Nothing will stand between him and...” Preston Garvey was interrupted by the pillar of light and fire that consumed the sky, the roar of pressure and the heat washing over them.

 

The Prydwens hull cast a shadow in the light as it sank to the ground and collapsed inwards. The horizon was aflame.

 

Danse tried to stand.

 

The world was suddenly tilting and the corners of his sight darkening. He tried to breath and found himself gasping. He became aware too suddenly that Nathan had been up to something for the last two days, and he had been trying to confront him on it. The obvious lack of a reason why he hadn’t done so stuck out starkly, painfully. He felt something break, thoughts realigning, the haze that had been in his head clearing. A sense of sobriety overwhelmed him, as if he had been drunk without knowing and only now was the fog lifting and realisation dawning on him.

 

He became dimly aware of Preston calling his name, reality snapping back to him. The air was heavy with ash and dust, the sky orange and streaked. Preston had caught him awkwardly and was struggling to keep him from falling, almost dragging him upright by a fistful of his clothes. Danse reached out for the wall and steadied himself, his grip on the brickwork so tight his damaged knuckle began to split again.

 

“Danse, talk to me. Danse.”

 

“I just lost my balance.” It was a lie, but acceptable enough. “Did you know about this?”

 

“No.” Prestons shoulders were low, a look of familiar horror on his face as the cloud rolled toward them consuming everything in its path. “He just said to wait here for the signal. And to keep you here no matter what happened, for his own peace of mind.”

 

Libertalia became a shadow and was gone, swallowed whole.

 

The image of Sturges looking guilty flashed through Danses mind, disjointed and unattached to any frame of reference or event.

 

“Your ship, how many?” Preston put his sleeve over his mouth to stop from coughing as it became difficult to breath.

 

“How many what?” Danse snapped, regretting it quickly and trying in vain to calm himself.

 

“How many were at the airport?” Preston had picked up his musket, his hold of it almost shaking.

 

“Three quarters of the chapter, probably more. Including the Initiates.”

 

The wave hit them, the dust was mixed with something sharp and abrasive that hurt the skin and stung at their eyes.

 

“Children?” He spoke it too quietly, almost unheard.

 

“Yes.” Danse was staring at the horizon now though squinted eyes. “Too many. We never should have...”

 

“My orders were to stop you leaving. The General thought you might go running off. Now I know why. Go, I wont stop you.” Preston stood on the roof and let the cloud of ash roll over him until the horror he could see dawning in the south was just a vague dome of light not too dissimilar to Quincy on that bad night.

 

Danse took his core back, the Minutemen all silently watching him, all uncertain what to do. Preston was not giving them orders.

 

His armour felt too tight, his helmet closing in around him even as he did his warmup checks on the systems. His instincts told him to turn and run, to be away from it all, even as he got the green light from all diagnostics.

 

The Prydwen was now only a skeletal frame, the airport around it flattened by the blast.

 

It was only with a surge of anger did he soldier onwards. He needed Nate to answer for this.

 

 

 

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The command lines were oddly silent. He had expected Desdemona to have been on them the moment Preston told her that he had left the outpost.

 

Danse was starting to wonder if Preston had told her. He was starting to think that perhaps he hadn't, not that it mattered too much either way.

 

It was at least good to know for the future that the Minutemen leader could be relied upon to do the right thing even if it conflicted with their own goals. Rather bitterly he realised that the whole situation was started by Nathan doing exactly that. He missed the simplicity of orders always being right and just. He supposed that they never had been, just his faith in them had been absolute.

 

The other possibility was that he used a different channel, and Desdemona was waiting for him.

 

The air tingled in a way he knew too well. He braced for combat, taking a step forward then another back, running a hand through the air to get a rough idea what direction it was strongest from.

 

It built up, the sensation of static against his skin growing too strong. He had already counted it down in his head, reaching zero and still the air felt stinging and raw in a way he knew not to be normal.

 

What he hadn’t expected was for it to reach its peak with a flash of lightning and then freeze, suspended just shy on the ground. Bright blue-white strands and forks of light held shape, trembling and twitching for just long enough for Danse to realise something was very wrong. He managed to get five paces of a steady retreat away when it finally struck with a high pitched whine and too much force.

 

Concrete and dirt were flash cooked into glass, Danse seeing every thermal, radiation, pressure, and electromagnetic sensor on his armour throw warning deep into the red before dropping back to near normal.

 

The air was already choked with ash and dust, a shape coalescing in the light and smoke before scattering again unable to form.

 

The second time it struck some distance away, far enough to only be heard, blasting what remained of the windows out of a building.

 

It was the third and last that caught Danse unaware. Again it formed, weaker than the last time, a stray bolt scoring a rather jagged burn across the shoulder of his armour. For a brief moment the fusion core registered several hundred percent power remaining as it earthed through.

 

The relay finally formed almost properly, but still too hot and too bright. The shape formed, a human outline against the light rather calmly walking through it all.

 

Danse assumed some kind of Relay malfunction.

 

X6-88 made it to the nearest wall, shedding the now smouldering Courser coat and letting it stay where it fell. He took a deep breath and slumped against the wall, the brick and mortar brilliantly cold through only his thin undershirt.

 

“Identify yourself.” Danse approached, getting a brief look acknowledging his presence and little else.

 

“X6-88.” X6 removed his sunglasses, putting them carefully down at his side and giving Danse an appraising look. “M7-97, DN-4079, Former Paladin Danse.”

 

Danse only raised his weapon higher, a stab of something painful going through his heart at the mention of his Brotherhood ID, and another through his head at the mention of his synth designation. After a moment the pain in his head was forgotten.

 

X6 narrowed his eyes faintly, recognising the distinct blinking pattern of a soft memory reset in progress. By his own estimates it was a badly programmed one at that, the synth seemed to be experiencing a brief loss of lucidity where secondary functions should have taken over.

 

“You were Knight Nathans bodyguard.” Danse motioned with the tip of his weapon for X6 to stand up. The request was ignored.

 

“Amongst other functions.” X6 closed his eyes for a moment, his breathing heavy and hitched. “I strongly suspect if I return to the Institute those will not be my duties any longer.”

 

“If?”

 

“A poor choice of words.” X6 answered just slowly enough for Danse to see the lie forming. He could see exactly who he had learned that trait from.

 

“If?” He pressed a little harder, taking a single warning shot that struck the wall a hands span away from his head. X6 did not flinch.

 

“You are aligned with the Railroad now, aren’t you?”

 

“We have a working alliance.” Danse realised that perhaps he would have to rethink that alliance.

 

“My time was up. Coursers have a limited lifespan before certain defects render us unable to operate properly. I am overdue to be scrapped. Nathan, for whatever reason, cut a deal with me. I was supposed to disappear after the assault on the Brotherhood compound, and he would have me marked as destroyed and beyond recovery.”

 

“What went wrong?”

 

“I was sent the order to go to the secondary site as agreed, but the Relay was interrupted before it could properly form.” X6 looked toward the orange glow on the horizon. “I have a strong idea what did it.”

 

“Knight Nathan was working for the Institute this entire time?”

 

“So we believed.”

 

Danse reached for one of the pouches strapped to his armour, throwing a single stimpak to the injured Courser.

 

“I don’t know if you are telling the truth or not, and I have no reason to trust or doubt you either way. I suggest you find somewhere to recover where the ghouls can't pick you off.”

 

“The assistance is appreciated.” X6 finally stood up, a small measure of his strength returning.

 

Danse left him to recover, not sparing him another glance. Within moment X6 was too far away to be seen and too far to be a concern, left behind in the cloud to work out his own fate.

 

 

 

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The Prydwen was now a ghastly, skeletal thing, the ribs of its superstructure arrayed upwards against the sky. His chest twisted up inside, throat dry and painful, his home first lost and now aflame. The wind changed again until all that could be made out was the deep shadows cast by its remains and the orange flickering behind it.

 

As he approached the frontline there was another brief reprieve in the wind, just long enough for him to see the outline of Liberty Prime looming over the Brotherhood. A weight lifted seeing them alive, returned too soon knowing they were still in danger. Elder Maxson still leading them, making his stand against the traitor that had arrayed the Commonwealth against them.

 

Nate was recognisable by his slouching stance, his bottom half obscured by the wall of armour they had put in place to keep the Brotherhood contained inside the ambush.

 

Righteous Authority felt right in his hands, a weird sense washing over him that this had come full circle. Knight Nathan had once stood ready to end the life of a traitor with that very weapon, now Danse was in the same position, reversed.

 

Ash started to rain downward, no longer whipped up and frenzied. The air still carried some of that searing heat and the smell of burning steel.

 

Raising his weapon he lined the sights where he though Nathan had been, it would only take a single shot to the back of his head put him down. It was not the easiest of shots at that distance, but he only needed one. The modifications made to the weapon guaranteed its deadliness. The wind slowed again, and Nate entered his sight, now leaning forward slightly.

 

Danse watched the Brotherhood line, soldiers elbowing each other to get close enough to see. He recognised Haylen, a pang of disappointment spiking through his chest. Brandis was at her side, something in his expression hardened and uncertain.

 

Nate leaned over the table, tilting his head. Whatever he said clearly inspired Maxsons anger.

 

With a last steadying breath he moved his finger onto the trigger.

 

“Ad Victoriam, Brother.” The words twisted in his chest as he closed his eyes and pulled the trigger.

 

The weight that barrelled into the side of him caught him completely off guard. The shot connected, off by a few degrees. He squeezed a second shot into whoever was attacking him before his weapon was seized from his grip and thrown aside.

 

The wind picked up and everything was blanketed in thick gloom again.

 

There was shouting from the frontline as an unfortunate series of events were tipped into motion. The shot struck Nate in the shoulder, the damage to his armour only minor but enough to register to Liberty Prime as a hostile action. It was assumed by the Brotherhood to be a shot intended for Maxson, and by the Atom Cats to have been aimed at Nate.

 

The war robot managed to charge its head mounted weapon and gouge a line in the earth with it, stopping just short of hitting the Brotherhood line when Nates shouted command override it. By that point the Brotherhood had opened fire assuming the ceasefire to be a trick, and the Atom Cats were all to eager to retaliate. That left Nate and Maxson in the center of a battlefield with dust so thick they were blind to anything beyond three paces away, their orders blanketed and lost.

 

“Strongly suggest not doin' that  again. ” Sturges looked  down at Danse pinned beneath him, then up toward the flashing lights and shouting. A large carbon score adorned the centre of his armour, the edges still red hot and  s izzling.

 

Danse reached for the knife magnetised to the back of his armour. He was perhaps a little too obvious, Sturges trying to grab his arm not realising how he had shifted his weight. Danse swung his leg over Sturges hip and twisted his body, the armour releasing a hiss of exertion when he did so.

 

Sturges wasn’t sure quite what happened but Danse was now on top, one knee pressed against his sternum and the edge of a blade against his throat. The metal groaned under the weight, threatening to buckle through him.

 

Danse gently removed the blade and threw it aside when he left the press of cold steel against the back of his head and heard the 'click' of a hammer being cocked on a pistol.

 

He stood, slowly and deliberately, making no move that would give her cause to fire. The chances of being able to turn and disarm her or throw himself aside before she could pull the trigger were slimmer than he would have liked.

 

Desdemona leaned forward just enough to be heard, the stealthboy field collapsing.

 

“I think we need to have a talk Paladin.”

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for taking so long with this chapter, had to deal with some real life stuff.


	40. I Was Right the First Time

Day 21 since the incident at Listening Post Bravo

 

 

  
  
  
  
There was almost silence for a moment, the Brotherhood too stunned to react. The dust swept over them, so dense it made echoes that were quickly swallowed up and left only howling wind.

 

The fuel reserves caught, then roared and screamed as they burned up, the noise so loud speech was near impossible through it. For several minutes the lines held across from each other, the Brotherhood torn between watching their warship burn, and watching their enemy for the first sign they might betray the ceasefire.

 

It was Maxson that broke the relative silence, once the sound of the flames died down to a dull shrillness far away. Nathan had been idly toying with one of the servos in a finger, trying to realign it from the outside with his thumb as if he was just casually waiting around. He had really hoped Maxson could not see through his feigned calm.

 

He could.

 

“You went to a significant effort to bring me here. So what do you think you have the right to demand from the Brotherhood?” Maxson leaned forward, oddly surprised when Nathan didn't make even the slightest of telling movements. Certainty was a worrying thing to deal with, especially when it was someone with the fate of the chapter a buttons press away.

 

“I formally challenge you for leadership of this Chapter of the Brotherhood of Steel.” He had said it so smoothly, so plainly, it had almost given Maxson a moment of pause.

 

“And what makes you think I will just hand over my hard earned title to a traitor like you?” Maxson shot a look to Kells and then toward the rows of landed Vertibirds, a silent request to have their nose mounted weapons primed and ready for his order.

 

“Either I walk out of this with the title of Elder, or the Brotherhood will burn.” As if to demonstrate the point he let his thumb ghost over the button, just enough pressure applied that one of the lights flickered on for just a moment. Their was a sharp intake of breath from all who could see it glow red. Too many froze stiff at the muffled 'deet' that responded from nearly thirty points under the sand. Every one of them knew the sound, aware now that they stood in a minefield.

 

“Your terms are unacceptable. I see no reason to give into your demands.” Maxson knew full well that he could only stall for time.

 

“I wasn’t making you any offer. I'm giving _them_ the chance, not you.” Nate gestured widely to the Brotherhood assembled, activating the comms to Prime. Static shrieked as the line opened, all eyes on the giant robot. “The Prydwen is gone, the Commonwealth is united against you, you are without weapons, without supplies and now without any way to call in reinforcements. All of this was achieved in less than a month by a handful of civilians under my guidance.”

 

He conveniently omitted the part where Desdemona had done almost all of the real planning, all without telling a single person, whilst still performing her duties as Railroad Alpha. Nate was always just the figurehead, drawing attention away from the real work.

 

“As long as even a single Brother in Steel still stands none of that matters.” Maxson shook his head, raising his fist clenched as the signal to ready. “We fight to the last. Take aim.”

 

Nate leaned in, tilting his head so Maxson could see it clearly. The band of thick metal and wires around his neck glinted with red and green lights, an electrode pad stuck against his throat. He grinned a little too widely, a smugness to him that Maxson saw as both an invitation to violence and as a worrying degree of certainty.

 

“And most importantly, the ground we're standing on is peppered with explosives tied to my own heartbeat.”

 

Before Maxson could lower his hand and cancel the order there was a single sharp 'thunk' of an energy weapon striking steel and a whiff of burnt metal and ozone, time seemingly stopped as both sides came to the same conclusion and hell broke loose. The wind picked up again and everything plunged into near darkness, shot through with flashes of dazzling red and green.

 

“Threat detected, eliminating resistance.” Maxson and Nate snapped up toward the red shimmer above them, both of their hearts in their throats as a pillar of red swept out into the storm.

 

Deacon threw himself somewhere, safe Nate hoped, somehow out of sight on a relatively flat beach with apparently no cover.

 

“Override I.N.797, mainweapon shutdown, on command targeting only!” The earth was scourged and scarred in a thick line, Nate barely managing to get the order out before any Brothers and Sisters were reduced to a cloud of atoms and searing plasma. Prime lowered its hand from the warhead dispenser on its back, the light fading from behind its faceplate.

 

Maxson kicked over the table and dropped behind it, hand going to his hip for a weapon and finding it frustratingly bare. He shouted for a sidearm toward the Brotherhood line and got an affirmative, a laser pistol landing heavily in the sand close enough to be snatched up and levelled. Nate had dropped behind the table too, the Elder flicking off the safety and pointing at his head. Nate responded in kind, both staring down the business end of a laser weapon. Nate had no doubt the Elder could pinpoint accurately put a shot clean through his eye socket, but the Elder in turn knew Nate just had to hit him once first anywhere without his armour.

 

The Atom Cat wall parted for just a moment as someone came charging through, one of their shields in hand.

 

The trigger was still in Nates hand, and he was toying with the button trying to will himself to just press it and put an end to the fighting. His gun arm was steady, his detonator hand was not.

 

The single soldier landed heavily between them, slamming the shield down toward the Brotherhood line and wedging its mooring spikes firmly into the earth.

 

Maxson tried to back away, his shoulder caught by a heavy, armoured hand. There would probably be armour shaped bruises from it much later.

 

“You won't make it across Arthur. Call a ceasefire.” The Elders attention snapped to Danse, relief came first as the familiar reaction, then the memory of what had happened, then sharp, fresh anger.

 

The shield rattled from fire, the corner shearing off. The shard span away free at speed enough that it embedded itself in a nearby Knight that had though to charge in and save the elder, bawling him over.

 

“Sustained fire risks detonating us all. Make the call!” Danse threw his helmet off, brow beaded with sweat, his teeth bared at the Elder in a way Maxson had never seen from him before. At least never seen it directed at anyone but insubordinates.

 

The shield began to buckle, splotches of heat red bubbling in toward them.

 

Maxson grit his teeth, accusations almost dying on his lips.

 

“I should have killed you when I had the chance.” His pistol turned toward Danses, who made no move to get out of the way. There was just an intense blankness to his expression that Nate would have found uncomfortably familiar.

 

“And if you had, then you wouldn’t have even made it off the Prydwen. Sparing Danse is the only reason you are here, alive, right now.” Nate snorted a bitter laugh, turning his own weapon to Maxson. “Extrapolate target, fire on my mark.”

 

The thrum of Liberty Prime charging it head mounted weapon cut through the noise, a single red targeting dot lighting up the Elders chest.

 

“This has gone too far.” Danse put himself directly between Nate and Maxson, the smug grin Nate was wearing dropped instantly as Prime adjusted his target by a few degrees, the targeting laser scattering brightly off the shiny steel where the Brotherhood emblem had been scrubbed away. “I trusted you.”

 

“Untarget, cool all hot weapons.” Nate brushed his thumb over the safety, locking it again and made a show of putting it down slowly and visibly. He took a deep breath, and let it out carefully. “Don't test my mercy again. I won't have you threaten Danse.”

 

“Unable to comply, capacitors overcharged.” Primes response gave him a moment of pause as he wracked his memory for the proper command.

 

“Untarged and cycle.”

 

Prime went quiet again, the light behind its faceplate rising and falling from deep red to fiery orange back and forth as it awaited a new target. From somwhere behind the brotherhood line Proctor Ingram started counting down in her head how long Prime could cycle the energy back and forth before frying half of its own systems catastrophically.

 

“All forces, ceasefire.” Maxson reluctantly shouted to his forces. The firing slowed, but didn’t stop. “I said ceasefire!”

 

“You heard him, match the call.” Nate tapped the earpiece, getting a rather stiff 'acknowledged' from Desdemona. She was not pleased, and that was never a good thing.

 

The light and noise stopped abruptly, the wind had already calmed again and now only the dust and smoke kicked up by the fighting remained, settling slowly.

 

Danse stood slowly, tearing the shield free from the ground and letting it fall to the side. He offered Maxson a hand up, being pointedly ignored, and in turn ignored the flailing from Nate asking for that same help.

 

It only took one Knight close enough to say “is that Paladin Danse?” for speculation to shoot like wildfire down the Brotherhood line, Brother whispering sidelong to Brother, those wearing black and red striped markings eyeing each other suspiciously. A good few too many with black mourning stripes looked to Brandis, his half smile a little too obvious.

 

“Danse?” Nate tried not to flinch when Danse looked at him, quiet fury behind his eyes. “Are you with us?”

 

“Desdemona and Sturges have adequately explained the situation to me.” His tone was too clipped, too controlled to mean anything good.

 

“Are you with us?” He repeated the question.

 

“I will do what I have to, to ensure the survival and prosperity of the Brotherhood. Do what you came here to do, I will not interfere unless I have to.” Danse raised his head proudly, Nate certain that if he did anything to threaten the Brotherhood then he would not hesitate. Maxson had noticed this too, wondering exactly what had happened to turn what he had expected to be close allies into near enemies.

 

“I trust you.” Nate bit his lip, straightening up and taking a stronger tone. “What I mean is that I trust you to do what you think is best.”

 

That got nothing but an irritated look in return.

 

“I suggest you get on with your objective. Quickly.” His voice was that of the disappointed Paladin dealing with one of his soldiers.

 

Nate activated the comms, his voice booming over the battlefield again.

 

“I ask this of you all, who will sponsor my claim for the title of Elder? Any who would, stand with me now. I offer amnesty and forgiveness for your crimes against the people of the Commonwealth on their behalf.”

 

There was a muted chorus of muttering and chatter from them. Nate made a point of ignoring the withering glare from Scribe Haylen. He was certain if her rage had any power then her glare would have incinerated him to bone and ash by now.

 

“Nobody move, that’s an order.” Maxson turned to his troops momentarily, swinging his arm out as if to bar them from passing.

 

“You don’t get to give orders now.” Deacon shouted from his position, scrambling back to Nate from behind the only raised sandbar on the beach deep enough to offer shelter.

 

There was a scandalised gasp from one of the Scribes as Paladin Brandis pushed through the line and marched across the gap.

 

Maxson should have been furious. Instead there was the kind of calm that came from knowing the future of his Chapter was now wholly out of his own control and entirely in each and every one of theirs.

 

Brandis just shrugged at the Elder, trusting that the debts he owed to Nate and Danse were worth enough to take the gamble against him. Danse was a good man, and the Brotherhood as it currently stood would never cease to be a threat to his life, his wellbeing, and any who dared associate with him. That needed to change.

 

Haylen stepped across the line next with an expression like a thunderstorm, walking across the no-mans land with a head held high. Rhys had been near to her, had tried to grab her arm and talk her out of it, but had just missed catching her by the tips of his fingers. He was tempted to go after her, to bring her back, but her choice had marked her now beyond returning.

 

“This is for Danse, not you.” She spoke quietly as she passed Nate by, making a point of ignoring the grin Deacon was pointing her way.

 

“Nurse Ratched.” The spy nodded to her with a look over the top of his sunglasses.

 

Nate could sense that Haylen was going to have a talk with him later, a very stern one. He wondered if he was going to be the first Elder assassinated by strangulation, on their first day of duty, by a Scribe.

 

An older Paladin, battle scared and grizzled took the step next, a faded lion insignia on his armour announcing his allegiance to the old Lyons Pride. Brandis nodded to him knowingly.

 

The various teams convened amongst themselves, the decision massive and life changing and the time to decide terribly short.

 

Slowly the Knights, Scribes and Paladins made their decisions. A few stepped over, at first guiltily, then with increasing pride with each new person. Nate seemed more confident with each new recruit, his smile growing wider. Brandis had done an exceedingly good job of fanning the flames of doubt and rebellion.

 

The table was turned back over, Danse reverently lifting the Codex out from the dirt and blowing the sand from its cover. It was laid open, gently and carefully, turned to face Arthur Maxson.

 

“So this is how the Brotherhood fractures, just like it was under Elder Lyons.” Maxson looked at Danse, grief weighing on them both as they watched the work they had done to bring the Chapter back together unravel anew.

 

“What choice do we have? This war made us too many enemies, alienated too many potential allies, and rallied forces that have proven themselves more than capable of destroying us. Brotherhood interests can still be maintained here in the Commonwealth, just not the same way as before.” Danse offered, wanting to believe it for himself as much as convince the Elder of it.

 

“I intend to keep my word.” Nathan added stiffly, getting no acknowledgement from either of them. “I can offer you one last compromise as a sign of good faith. You take a handful of the Vertibirds and return to the Citadel with those loyal to you, and I take command of this new Commonwealth chapter of the Brotherhood of Steel, as opposed to taking command of the entire East Coast.”

 

It was clear and transparent that that the plan had been the plan all along. Nathan would never have been able to bring the more unruly, hardline elements under his command. Even Danse would have struggled. What they needed were the ones already willing to work with them.

 

“Unacceptable. The council of Elders will never agree to it.”

 

“I'm not asking for their permission. We're a fight they can't risk, not with Prime, and the whole Commonwealth against them. Even if did attack and even if they won, they'd be too weakened, easy picking for a thousand other enemies just waiting for them to slip up.” Nate leaned forward over the table, the detonator pressed between the wood and his palm precariously.

 

“Enough.” Danse lifted Nates hand with quite a bit of force, a stark reminded to respect and rightfully fear the power he so carelessly wielded. “You have your victory, I suggest you show some grace about it.”

 

Nate was very careful to not show how much Danse was cutting him to the core with his icy tone.

 

“Elder Maxson, I strongly suggest you take your forces and leave.”

 

“What do you intend to do with the soldiers you have stolen from me?”

 

Nathan pointed his weapon straight into the air.

 

“Extrapolate target, fire.” Prime discharged its main weapon straight into the sky on command, emptying the overly hot capacitors.

 

Proctor Ingram finally let the breath she had been holding out, waiting for Prime to explode under the obvious mismanagement and unable to actually stop it. Nathan would have been amused to know that Primes main weapon had phenomenal range, enough they could, with enough patience, write 'fuck the Institute' on the moon. His sentiment toward them was now very much known even without such extravagant lengths.

 

“The question.” Danse reminded, as Nate took a moment to properly compose himself.

 

“Once we're done here we march on the Institute and put them to the torch too, right another wrong.” There was something in his expression that worried Danse. Maxson knew it from his ascent to power, the same fervent fire that burned like the sun behind the eyes of every soldier that fought tooth and nail to conquer the Capital Wastes in his name. “Cast your enemies down, take technology from unworthy hands, bring peace. By days end I will have done all three. Ad Victoriam.”

 

“Ad Victoriam!” the words rippled through Nate's supporters, chanted as a rallying cry. There was something of a cold shudder that ran through the Railroad agents, especially Deacon.

 

He turned to the Brotherhood assembled at his back.

 

“To create steel you need a flame to temper it and a hammer to forge it. The Codex states we must each be as steel, we must embody both the fire and the hammer blow. Today I brought the flame and the hammer down upon you and you cracked under the pressure, and where does the strength of the Chapter come but from its leader. Maxson has been found wanting, look only to the wreckage of his work for proof.”

 

Fully half of the chapter had now come to his side, the last few making their decisions as the rest were all too certain where they belonged to be swayed by an upstart.

 

A good number of the Blackstripes had flocked to his side, and the promise of immediately attacking the Institute had brought more than a few of the more bloodthirsty members under his sway.

 

He turned back to address Maxson.

 

“Have you made your decision?”

 

“You have a habit of putting me at an impasse.” The Codex was open on the page listing the chapters and organisations of the Brotherhood. In Nate's terrible scrawl was an addition, Commonwealth Chapter. Maxson put his name to it, hands trembling as he did so knowing that his signature was quite possibly dooming them all.

 

“Thank you. Now get the hell out of my territory.”

 

“Goodbye Arthur.” Danses voice almost cracked, the first signs of exhaustion of both the body and spirit making itself known.

 

Maxson gave a tense salute to the new Elder, a regretful glance toward his former right hand Paladin and then ordered his forces back to the Vertibirds. Less of them followed than he would have liked.

 

Nate watched as a few of the Vertibirds took off, heading south west over the horizon. Nate made certain Liberty Prime let them go.

 

There was a lot of soldiers and a lot less command staff than he would have liked looking to him for direction.

 

“We won. What now?” Deacon looked over the gathered assembly of Brotherhood, shifting uneasily in his armour at their scrutiny.

 

“I have something I need to fix.” Nate spoke softly before straightening himself up, taking an authoritative tone. “My first act as Elder is to reverse the exile of Sentinel Danse and restore his name to our ranks.”

 

“Don't you mean Paladin?” Deacon looked over the top of his sunglasses.

 

“I was right the first time. I also defer all command decisions to the new Sentinel for the foreseeable future. Congratulations Danse, the Brotherhood is yours to lead. Make the preparation, we go to war as soon as ready.”

 

Danse seemed to stop, unblinking and unmoving.

 

“What?” His jaw moved, his brows fighting each other in the confusion.

 

“You said it yourself, the Brotherhood needs a leader who can inspire respect and command. You were declared a traitor and executed, struck from the records, and still the Brotherhood honoured your memory. That's the kind of respect I could never command. Ad Victoriam, Sentinel!” Nate saluted him. “The coming strike against the Institute will be your proving ground.”

 

A chorus of 'Ad Victoriam' followed from the newly founded chapter, all saluting their new commanding officer.

 

Nate held the salute as Danse stepped up to the role he was clearly meant for. Pride mingled with something cold and final in his chest as he watched the change in him. Danse seemed to be as he should have been, the Paladin, now Sentinel, that he had been waiting to see restored. Everything seemed to be right again for him.

 

There was only that one matter between them outstanding, hanging in the air waiting for that time later he was always promising and never delivering.

 

Deacon and Desdemona appeared at his side whilst the Sentinel was making a speech, uncertain quite how to handle this sudden shift in power and hoping it would turn out well in the Railroads favour.

 

Nate knew himself well enough, knew how easily power made him reckless and if he didn’t give it up he would end up just like his son. He had seen just how terrible Shaun had been with power and it was most certainly a trait he got from his father.

 

With a little trepidation from the Minutemen the battleplans were shared, the Brotherhood horrified to learn that there had been artillery pointed at them for at least a few days, artillery now turning to the now known location of the Institute. Equipment was going to be brought to them within the half hour, final preparations done within twenty minutes of that, in a little under an hour Liberty Prime was going to lead the final assault.

 

The Railroad and Minutemen were at the ready to relay in after the Brotherhood vanguard. They even had a small contingent from Goodneighbour prepared, Hancock ready to infiltrate them in through an underground route that was badly secured.

 

Nate for the moment didn’t seem to care about the preparations being made all around him, he was just sat on the sand with a cold bottle of Nuka-Cherry and a box of snackcakes waiting for his Paladin. It was a weak apology that would not save him from the one final betrayal he was going to have to make.

 

He played with his pipboy for a few short moments, digging deep into the operating system and looking at a single tiny file that he felt disgusted at the existence of. With a cold shudder he realised he could use it to simply order Danse to forgive him. If the plan went horribly wrong he intended to use it to erase his memory and send him somewhere far away where he could be safe even if that meant they couldn’t be together. Watching that tiny file blip out of existence forever made him feel like he had made the right choice, and now he had to face the consequences of his lies.

 

He reached into a pouch a drew out a small holotape.

 

Desdemona leaned over to see what it was as he snapped it in half.

 

“What was that?”

 

“Just a loose end. Something I’ve forgotten.” The parts were dropped to the sand and left. She could see 'oney' on one half, the other out of his sight. Whatever it had been it looked centuries aged.

 

He had realised days ago that he couldn’t recall her face. He could only just remember how much her friendship had meant to him as a distant thing. It was time to let what little of the old world he had left simply fade. Two centuries of cryo sleep had finally robbed him of everything he had cared to remember.

 

“So how long were you preparing that 'forging fire with hammers' speech for?” Deacon was sat in his stolen power armour, knees raised awkwardly. A Scribe had returned his helmet, which he was pointedly ignoring.

 

“If anybody asks it was improvised, just a mark of how great I am.” Nate smiled thinly, sticking his tongue cheekily out between his teeth. “I've also got about ten different drafts of it in a drawer back at HQ somewhere.”

 

Deacon let a tiny laugh free at this.

 

Nate took the detonator switch and unscrewed the bottom half revealing a secondary hidden switch inside. He pressed it, holding until the control collars all gave a beep signalling they were no long connected to the explosives. He pulled his off, passing it to Deacon. Desdemona did the same.

 

He pulled the switch out, dragging wires and a circuit board with it. With a hard tug he severed the components, permanently disarming the explosives. They would have to dig them up again later just to be certain.

 

“You should have demanded his coat. Even if you didn’t want it I would have been happy to have it. Be good in winter.” Deacon looked at Nate expecting a witty remark. The look he got momentarily threw his guard off, Nate seemed almost angry at the suggestion.

 

“Danse already cautioned me not to kick a good man while he's down. Maxson had good intentions, just a little misguided. A lot misguided actually. I think leadership and the constant threat of the West Coast Chapters got to him. Would have drove me mad in a month, nevermind nearly a decade.”

 

“Misguided? Not what I would have said. They all followed him blindly, what does that say about the Brotherhood?” Desdemona looked out over them with doubt, feeling exposed around them without the cover of night and anonymity.

 

“They've accepted a disgraced, exiled, dishonourably discharged and executed synth as a commanding officer. That’s a lot of progress.”

 

“One synth isn't a lot.”

 

“Its all in how you word it. One hundred percent increase in synth acceptance sounds so much more optimistic. We just got to convince them there are more that are redeemable.”

 

Desdemona gave it some thought, decided that it was problem for another time and stood up, stretched once, and went to find just where the rest of her agents had hidden themselves. She had to find Sturges, he was oblivious to what Nathan had done to him, taken from him in desperation to keep their carefully balanced secrets in line. She had promised to be the one to fix that, all it would need was the words 'gamma, ochre, five, seven, two' and a prompt to undo it. Making him remember was easy, it was the damage to both his ability to trust and his sense of self that would be slow to heal. Danse was entirely Nates responsibility.

 

She had been there that awful night, Nate having called her over the secure line in a frenzied panic. She had arrived to a horror she had never thought any one of her agents was capable of. She had no choice but to put the programming into Danses head that kept him from remembering. She felt sick being his accomplice to such a despicable action, her conscience only eased knowing that there really was no other way.

 

Danse finished his long speech, Nate idly catching a few words about his heart and mind belonging to the Brotherhood. He turned to where Nate had been standing, first concern then anger showing on his features when he couldn't find him.

 

Nate waved him over half heartedly, catching his attention. He could see the relief on his face for the briefest moment before it was crushed down.

 

Danse joined him, dropping heavily down onto the damp sand. Nate leaned against him, armour clanging awkwardly as he did so.

 

“Inappropriate, Elder.” Nate sat back up, even Deacon recoiling at how callously Danse had spoken before choosing to flee from what was very apparently a Gladius team thing.

 

“My apologies.”

 

“I promised two people, whose council I trust, to give you a chance. So speak.” Desdemona and Sturges had not been particularly convincing, but he felt he owed them both at least the chance.

 

There was a moment of silence as Nate chose his words.

 

“I couldn’t guarantee how you’d act, so I kept quiet about my plans and worked around you. When I finally figured it out I realised you'd never stand behind me. I know you Danse. I wasn’t risking putting you into an operation where you were against those you loved. Maxson made that mistake, and he paid for it today.”

 

“So that’s it. Everything between us wasn’t enough for you to just trust me?”

 

“I suppose not.” Nate shrugged weakly. “In the end what does it matter. You have your life back, and the Brotherhood is at the head of a now united Commonwealth.”

 

“It matters to me, and I cannot say it feels good to know it doesn’t matter to you.”

 

“I made my choice, for better and worse. There was never a way to win everything, so I chose the greater good. I figured a few personal sacrifices for the good of everyone else was worth it in the end.”

 

“One of those things you sacrificed was my...” Danse bit back his words, interrupted by his team approaching. It was a generally accepted rule never to let the command chain be seen fighting amongst themselves.

 

Haylen was leading Rhys to them, everything about him seemed dazed as if he was still in disbelief over his own choice. His usually mouthy, arrogant attitude was lost in introspection, taking a small comfort in being with his team. Nate almost approved of the change, as short lived as it was likely going to be.

 

They had spoken, Rhys now at least somewhat aware that Haylen knew Danse had been alive all along.

 

Danse could almost be happy. The ranks had been shuffled drastically, the Prydwen was gone, and they were now part of a very different Chapter of the Brotherhood than a month ago, but they were Gladius again.

 

The Prydwen could be rebuilt, Nate had made certain of that when they stole the plans. Given time everything would return to its natural order. This time though they would be serving the Commonwealth along with the Railroad and the Minutemen, ready to safeguard the future they were about to secure.

 

Danse awkwardly planted a kiss on Nate's cheek, chaste and brief, catching him completely off guard. His eyes hardened after and his pose shifted until he was once again the stony faced commanding officer.

 

There was something very final in the action that made Nates insides twist.

 

Rhys gave them both a strong look, forehead crinkling heavily with confusion and surprise. Haylen just smiled at their little action, promising to explain later.

 

“I love you Soldier.” Danse said it like a guilty confession, staring ahead rather than looking at him.

 

“Love you too Tincan.” Nate smiled sadly. As much as he wanted to put his arms around his Paladin, now Sentinel, and hold on tightly it was obvious he would not allow it. “Is _this_ over?” He still didn’t know what to call it.

 

“I believe so.”

 

He had one last thing to do.

 

Very gently he cupped Danse face, aware of the way he pulled back away from his touch. He leaned in and whispered the override command. His hard stare became vacant, something stabbing in Nates chest seeing it. He gave the order to remember and half a minute of time to escape.

 

When Danse eventually snapped back to reality he was going to find three sets of holotags clasped in his hands; his own, Nathans, and Cutlers.

 

Remembering was going to sting, burning in his chest until he had to think of nothing but the mission to blank out the fire and the hurt.

 

Nathan told himself that same lie he had repeated over and over as he weaved through the crowd and found his way to the Railroad; that there would by time later to put things right.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote several different version of this ending, back and forth deciding which way to go with it. There was a few optimistic versions, a few where things went less smoothly, even a version where Danse and Nathan agreed to put the past behind them and start anew. I chose this path because it seemed the most realistic; Nate has done some fairly awful things for the sake of the mission, dragged quite a few people down with him, and now he has to reap the consequences even if almost everything went right.
> 
> There are a handful more chapters written but i'm wholly uncertain if they are needed. This was always intended to be the ending in one form or another, jut my resolve wavered a few times and I wrote more to see if i could make it work. The main story has wrapped up, Danse has been restored to the Brotherhood exactly as the original premise entailed, and what happened between the two has now ended. The rest is just loose ends like the Institute being dealt with. 
> 
> No matter what happens there are two more chapters after this; one epilogue set very slightly after and the last intermission. Part of me is tempted to clean up the remaining other chapters and throw them out as a short sequel.


	41. Final Intermission: The Incident at Cambridge Station

 

 

 

A year prior to the incident at Listening Post Bravo

 

 

The barricade failed spectacularly, the ghouls tearing at the roped together crates and barrels that acted as a last line of defence before engagement. Splintered wood and metal panels were scattered, the creatures clamouring up them and slipping as it fell.

 

Danse gave the order to alternate their fire, ammunition reserves already dangerously low. The spit and crackle of fire did little to deter them, and less to thin their numbers.

 

The first few charged out of the darkness, ducking and weaving awkwardly between fire and the dazzling brightness of the floodlights.

 

They held their position for several seconds successfully, it was only when Rhys pulled the trigger only to get a warning sound from the empty fusion cell did it start to fall apart. Before he could draw his reload they were upon him.

 

Knight Rhys was bowled backwards, hitting the steps hard enough to knock the wind from his lungs. His training kicked in instantly, curling his body close and raising his forearms as a shield to his face before kicking out with both legs.

 

The feral ghoul was thrown free, twisting and stumbling awkwardly before Danse shredded it with a well placed volley of shots.

 

Haylen grabbed Rhys, pulling him up the steps and propping him up against the wall. He protested, trying to rise to his feet. She forcefully held him in place, unscrewing a glass bottle and dipping a clean cloth in it with her free hand before applying the compress to the puncture wound on his left side. He hadn’t even realised it was there until the sting of medicine alerted him.

 

The ghoul had managed to stick a bony talon through his uniform and pierced his flesh. A cursory inspection showed it wasn’t an immediate life threatening danger, he would need a small infusion of Med-X and a stimpak at the barest minimum before he was combat ready.

 

She took his hand, pressing it over the alcohol soaked rag and telling him to hold it in place. He flinched as it seeped into the wound, Haylen pressing down just to be certain he understood that it had to stay where it was. She picked up her discarded sidearm and fired several shots into the ghouls skulking just beyond the barricades, a shrill scream and a hiss acknowledging her back.

 

“Report.” Danse barked, taking aim at one of the spindly things trying to climb the outer wall and flank them. A well placed streak of red light cut across its shoulder, sending it screaming back over.

 

“Puncture wound. Can't risk aggravating it or he might bleed out, he's already lost a lot of blood. I need my field triage set to clean this.” Haylen applied her last stimpak, Rhys flinching as the wounded clotted over and a dark bruise formed almost instantly around the area. It itched and stung terribly, the cocktail of chemicals trying to force rapid growth and regeneration. His head hurt as the loud crack of energy weaponry felt like Elder Maxson yelling at him through a hangover, the station courtyard seemed to pull and retreat as if viewed through heat haze as he tried to focus on the ghouls.

 

The ghouls fell silent, retreating back. Danse stood tall, ready for what was about to come. He could hear the muted chattering amongst them, the pack alpha taking charge over the retreating mutants with a clawed swipe and a sharp hiss.

 

The first wailing cry came, another answering. A third echoed from somewhere in the ruins, another from behind the station.

 

It was a rallying cry for the various roving packs that had infested the ruins and tunnels. Soon the only thing that could be heard was the croaking, screaming, call echoing from all directions as more packs joined the hunt. Danse could see the green glint of their eyes catching the light from the station floodlights, too many of them skulking in the shadows just out of range waiting for the moment.

 

“Heads up!” Danse swung to his left, trying to find the source of that voice.

 

Something hit the broken vehicle outside the palisade, clanging loudly against its metal hull. A moment later the grenade exploded, sending the nearest ghouls in several directions at once and pushing those too far away into action.

 

Danse could not identify exactly where the new arrival was hiding, but from the direction the grenade had arced from they must have climbed over the outer wall and were somewhere on the palisades upper platform.

 

The ghouls charged in, Danse raising his weapon and carefully putting each one down with a well placed shot. He had to conserve his ammunition, not having time to retreat into the station and resupply.

 

The ghouls proved too numerous for him, even his quickest reflexes outdone by sheer numbers. One of them threw itself onto his armour, scrambling up to try putting its teeth to his face.

 

Before it could reach his neck it wheezed loudly and was propelled backwards with a crunch of shattering ribs, a blur of movement on Danse's peripheral vision alerting him. The ghoul had been struck in the chest with a melee weapon of some kind, knocking another over as it was thrown free.

 

There was a crack of a pistol firing, the biting smell of gun smoke, and a very self assured nod from the newcomer.

 

“You okay?”

 

“Adequate, focus on the enemy.”

 

The newcomer held his ground well, the combined firepower of all of them almost keeping the horde at a distance. For the few that managed to close the distance the newcomer seemed fairly good at putting bat to skull, elbow to face and boot to the neck of the knocked down.

 

A pepper of warning shots exploded across the sandbags, warding off a few more.

 

Danse was careful to aim around them, the support appreciated but not trusted in the slightest.

 

He could hear a biting laugh from them, a warning in the back of his mind prickling at it.

 

Another grenade explosion scattered the last few, pot shots taken at their retreating forms.

 

Danse didn’t lower his weapon.

 

Now that the newcomer was standing still and not skulking in the shadows he could recognise their choice of clothing as that of a raider. Darkened leather, armour plating strapped about it and a gasmask under a hood. He had a backpack strapped with various tools and guns, a roll of ductape at his hip. He was breathing heavily, a tense laugh punctuating the strained gulps of air.

 

“We appreciate the assistance civilian. But what is your business here?” Danse looked down on them, his finger was away from the trigger but close enough to raise and snap a shot if needed.

 

“Pest exterminator. Heard you had a feral problem.” He raised his arm, flicking a dial on the mounted device. A few seconds of Haylens distress transmission played before being cut off. Danse recognised it as a pip-boy, a fairly rare piece of technology that he might have to recover.

 

“Evading my question is sure fire way to get yourself ejected from the compound. Are you from a local settlement.” Danse watched as he quickly loosened the clasps holding his gasmask in place, slipping free from it with a greedy gulp of air. He shook his head, wiping his brow with his sleeve and pushing back sweat dampened hair.

 

He had expected from their actions to see the deep scarlet hue punctuated with pronounced veins around the cheeks and neck that marked the recent use of psycho. Instead he seemed fairly well composed, a wide smirk on his mouth and arrogance in his eyes.

 

“Very long story. Vault 111 or Sanctuary Hills, take your pick. And for the record, I’m not a civilian.”

 

Danse frowned when this newcomer stood straight momentarily and gave a perfect Enclave salute before slipping back into a casual slouch. Knight Rhys' expression darkened at this.

 

After a moments consideration Danse popped the pressure seal on his helmet and removed it, holding it under his arm. After another moment he removed the hood too, partly trying to appear approachable as he had been instructed to act around potential assets, and partly because he needed the feel of cold air on his skin again.

 

“You're a vault dweller? Most wouldn’t admit to such a thing and I appreciate your honestly.” Danse stopped as the vault dweller looked him up and down, he could see the mental process of a trained soldier, running through and itemising all of his equipment and assessing the threat posed. He had done the same moment ago.

 

Danse suspected he had made an acceptable first impression given how their rescuer stood a little straighter and seemed a little keener upon seeing him face to face. He had no idea that he was in fact stripping off layers of armour in his mind.  
  
“If I appear suspicious it is because our mission here has been difficult. Since the moment we arrived in the Commonwealth we have been under fire. If you want to keep pitching in we could use the extra soldier at our side.”

 

“I'll help. But I think proper introductions are needed first.” Nate slipped a stimpak from a pouch around his belt, tossing it to Haylen. She caught it with an appreciative nod, checking it over briefly for signs of tampering or contamination. He looked away as she administered it to Rhys, a shiver visibly running through him. Rhys raised to his feet, leaning against the wall for support.

 

“Very well, I am Paladin Danse of the Brotherhood of Steel. Over there are Knight Rhys and Scribe Haylen.”

 

“Pleasure to meet you all. I'm Nate.” He waved laxly to the Scribe tending to the wounded Knight.

 

“Is that shorthand for Nathan?” Danse noticed the lack of a rank or surname given.

 

“It is, but please don't. Nate will do.”

 

“Fine, Soldier.” He put a hard inflection on the word 'soldier' garnering a raised eyebrow from the vault dweller.

 

“What do you need me to do, Tincan?” That wide smirk almost gave Danse a pause. If he had known then he was going to get stuck with him, and worse stuck being called 'tincan' he might have put a stop to it there and then.

 

For the time being he decided to humour the outsider to their ranks, what was the worst that could happen giving him a little leeway with his attitude?

 

There would always be time later to put things right.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I put off posting this for too long, not certain if I wanted this to be over or if I should use the rest of what I've written. I chose to end it here and have dumped the rest of my writing into a sort of deleted scenes posted as 'No Time Left'. That was a title I considered for a sequel.


End file.
